


It Matters Less and Less

by Careful_Mimicry



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amnesia, Angst, Bachelorette Party, Character Death, Clubbing, Cuddles, DA 2 party reincarnation, Dreams, F/M, Fen chases Hawke, First Kisses, Hawke doesn't get sportsing, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, It's too late for this shit, Kissing, M/M, Orlais is the new Hollywood, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, So much angst, Soul Binding, Straight Hawke, Stripper Hawke, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping, Symbolism, Trapped in the Fade, UST, Unrequited Lust, black and gold cause shadow and chains, finally we're getting somewhere, get it? cause the statues, hawke only dreams around fen, same people different names, the team is the Twins, they made a movie, varric snores
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Careful_Mimicry/pseuds/Careful_Mimicry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris has been waiting 6000 years for the soul of his mate to return from the labyrinth of The Fade.</p><p>When he does it is as a stripper back in Kirkwall. Fenis' friends all pitch in to help woo the man the broody elf has his sights set on. It goes about as well as one would expect.</p><p>Modern day soul mate AU with an immortal Fenris, a continually reincarnated Hawke and a mirror image of their favorite band of misfits. Antics ensue. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lighthouse

**Author's Note:**

> This work is wholy and entirely dedicated to Danwishfire, who has been and endless source of inspiration and friendship. She helped me hone this idea and, even if she didn't beta this first chapter I hope she'll be pleasantly surprised with it in the morning.
> 
> Thank you, you've helped me so much, I hope this is some small repayment for that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice little intro for you all, just to set the mood.

_"These days, the sunlight has bleached my paint,_  
_and the moonlight has made it plain  
_ _that nobody needs me to call them home_

 _But I swear there was a time when I_  
_would shine for him through the night  
_ _and he was the only ocean that I have known,_

 

_And I am a lighthouse_  
_in a desert and I stand alone_  
_I dream of an ocean that was here a long time ago_  
_and I remember his cool waters and I still glow"  
_ **\- Antje Duvekot (Lighthouse)**

 

 

 

Blood. There was so much blood. Scarlet cascaded across the packed earth, across his dark tunic, and his own clothes. His hands were shaking, crusting, itchy from the drying flakes of sanguine that floated as ruby snowflakes to the hard, winter ground. His breathing was harsh and forced, ripping in and out of his lungs in ragged, painful gusts. His body was tired, his arms quivered, he couldn't hold pressure much longer- and there was no use anyhow.  _He_  was bleeding out.

The moment stretched on into eternity. And though he cradled the other in his arms- his eyes did not open. And though he screamed his name into the sky and clung desperately to a limp body- his eyes did not open. And soon his chest did not rise. And soon the thudding of a dying, straining heart faltered into silence.

His friend had died. His lover had died. No, none of that sounded quite right because that wasn't just it. It wasn't the pain of losing a mother or father, a cherished friend, not even a husband.

His very soul was being carved away. The bond was tearing, a bond made up of their very selves. So this is how it would be. These were the fates they had been assigned, the roles that had been placed upon them. One to go on living- forever. The other to die. To rise again in time, a new place, a new person, a new face- only to perish once more.

And still he would live on.

This was only the beginning 

* * *

  _The pair stood beneath the triumphant Willow at the back of his tribe's camp. It was said that tree held sparks of every soul bonded beneath her. It was said every pair of leaves on her sweeping limbs were a lover and their mate. It was told that every, rare flower that bloomed were souls that had completed the ritual, that had fully, successfully bonded and were facing whatever came next in their lives. Their life, for they were one now._

_The children of the Maker had their own ritual, their own ceremonies and beliefs- but they also refused to so much as allow an Elf to set foot in their church doors and so the couple was at The Tree. There had been much squabble about the meeting, hours and eventually days of debate but the Keeper had silenced it with a wave of her pale, wrinkled hand._

_"SIlence." Her voice was harsh, cracking sharp like a whip. "One of our own has found his soul and you deign to tear them apart?" She rose slowly, her body frail but more terrifying than a Darkspawn. "You dare challenge the wills of our gods and the Maker alike?" She laughed, a sudden, spitting noise, "If you wish to incur the wrath of the gods and our ancestors both by all means you may step up to the alter of darkness yourself. But I will not join you."_

_"But he is a Shemlen!" Cried one angered voice._

_"Who isn't a Shemlen?!" Her eyes pierced the hearts and minds of every elder around the circle, "Who here can claimed they once walked in the great Elvhen kingdoms? Who here would dare to say they know the ways of old, the true ceremony of it all? Anyone? Would anyone like to step forward and say they have once again discovered immortality, they have reopened all the Eluvian, they were there the day the Gods assended and the kingdoms of old fell?" She waited, the silence pregnant and expectant. "I thought not." A collective breath escaped the group and each one dropped their eyes to the ground, ashamed of themselves._

_"We are only Elves because the Elvhen are not here to tell us otherwise, to call us the cruel and wicked names we have thought to call even each other" She paused, letting it all settle in and then continued on, "I can feel their souls resonate, I can_ feel _the bond they share. And that is a rare thing indeed. I will perform the ceremony, you are welcomed not to come." She sent them all one last glare, beckoned for her Second and together they exited the large tent, moving to the Willow to share the good news and begin the ritual..._

* * *

Lifetime after lifetime he did endure. Death after death his heart held true. A dozen years to a hundred, a hundred to a thousand and, even when he lost his memory, even when he was beaten and bruised-  _he_ sill found him.

Garrett Hawke. The name had felt warm on his lips and his heart had beat fiercely against his own. He had been drawn to the man, his body had ached for him and when they shared a bed that first night, he had brought the memories back. A hundred lifetimes washed over him. The love, the pain, the loneliness, the loss, the joy, the triumph, the soothing ease of their souls binding anew. It had been too much. Neither of them had expected it. He couldn't handle it, couldn't understand  _why_  he would do such a thing, tether himself to another- a  _mage_  no less. He'd seen how those bonds had been used in the Imperium, the slaves a tool for a Magister's immortality. It didn't take  _love_  after all, it just took two souls that resonated, that bonded, that could mold and connect and meld. He had thrust himself from the bed and run.

That was always his solution, wasn't it? To run. He was a damned coward.

It took him three years to understand, for the tearing ache in his very being to wear down his frustration and confusion and tug him back to his mate. There was no hesitation that night. There were no thoughts of his absence, no questions or accusations. Their bodies were hot and hard, their mouths emboldened and demanding. Their hands scratched and pulled, pressed and clenched. They craved each other, their hearts beat as one, their bodies moved in the dying firelight and sweat and spit alike passed between them.

It was years later that felt like minutes when Hawke finally said he he had to leave...

* * *

 "Don't go." It was all he could think to say.

 

 

 

"I must, they need me! Their hero! The only one who knows about the hellish evil they are facing!" Hawke's voice was filled with wit and charm.

"Do you? What could you possibly know? You couldn't even kill him the first time!" The words were cruel and the boisterous smile immediately faded from Hawke's face.

"I don't know. But something, I'm sure. I'm the only one who's faced him before." The mage's voice was weak, soft, pleading.

"They're a mess, Hawke. You don't need to save the world, again. This isn't your fight, this isn't your cause. They have people enough, let them deal with their problems. I beg you, Garrett, don't go." One look at the Champion's face and Fenris knew he was wrong to ask. The heavy silence finally crushed him and he growled out his surrender, "Fine, but I am coming with you." Emerald eyes rose to meet Hawke's ocean blue.

"There is red lyrium... I'm not sure what it'll do-..." His voice flooded with regret, sorrow, anguish, "You know I would love nothing more than to bring you-" Fenris just threw a hand up in a relenting  _spare me_  motion, and looked away, shaking his head.

"Promise me," He looked back, "Promise me you won't die." The words echoed in the still air around them and Hawke's breath faltered. He pressed his forehead to Fenris', his large hands gently cupping the other man's face.

"I am yours." Hawke's voice was quiet, barely loud enough for Fenris to hear.

"Yes, and when you return to me you will mend all the things you've hurt and broken, promise me. Promise me, Hawke."

Hawke's eyes closed and opened again slowly, "I am yours, Fenris. Always."

* * *

_Fenris,_

That was all he needed to see.

His name.

His  _name,_ scrawled in Varric's spidery lettering.

His name.  _Varric_  had written his  _name._

He didn't need to read on. He didn't need the pitiful apologies and scrambled explanations, he knew. He had felt it. He had felt the moment it had happened, the moment Garrett's soul had ripped from his body, the moment his mind had silenced, the moment his heart had stopped. He had denied it, had found every excuse in the world for the sudden cold creeping through his bones, for the numbness settling over his mind like a shroud. He had thought up a million reasons and knew, in his heart, that every one of them was wrong.

And Fenris knew he had failed again. How stupid could he be, how many times would he let this man, the man he loved, the man to whom his soul was bound, die. 50? 100? A number beyond counting. He could not protect him. He could not protect him and he could not finish the ritual and now he had lost him  _again._

It never got easier. It never hurt any less.

* * *

He could also feel whenever his mate's soul was born again. He could feel the healing, binding pull against his heart. A pull that grew stronger with every passing year. It had never taken more than a month, had never hurt quite so much in his absence. He was confused again and lost once more, his whole self aching keenly with the loss.

And so one icy, rain smattered morning he set out to Skyhold.

He stumbled into Skyhold a month or more later, the pain growing ever harsher, catching his steps, weakening his body, wearing down, feeding upon his soul. He must look like hell itself but the guards did not notice. They had seen hundreds of refugees already pouring in, some in worse shape than he- at least he had all his limbs. They waved him by, barely sparing him a passing glance. He looked to one, gripping his arm in a vice, "Where is the dwarf?" The words ground out from between his teeth, though he didn't mean them to be harsh, but if he had opened his mouth only a cry of anguish would have been able to escape.

"Which dwarf would that be?" His eyes were bland, entirely uninterested, as if he had better things to do than deal with wide eyed and haggard elves.

"Varric." Fenris spat out the name, his eyes following as the guard jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards a set of carefully arched stairs that lead into the main hall of the castle.

He managed to heave one of the heavy wooden doors open, his feet scrabbling against the icy, stone steps, body haggard and engaged in a quickly losing fight against fatigue and misery. His wild, green eyes scanned the room feveredly, soon falling upon a stout man by the fire place, "Dwarf-" his voice was low and ragged, and made harsh from the journey. It was the sound of 30 long winter nights in the cold and 30 longer days alone and in pain. It showered with ice and sorrow.

"Broody..." There was no surprise in his voice. How long Varric had been expecting him, Fenris did not know, but clearly he had been. His shoulders were slumped, his own face blotchy from tears forced back, his eyes ringed with black, and heavy, deeper set in his square face than Fenris every remembered them. His mouth worked for a few moments, trying to form words his voice would not allow.

"Tell me-" Fenris began, striding forward, pain in every step, a jolting in his heart at every movement, every shift of weight, every thought that flashed through his mind. "Varric-" He gasped and dropped to a knee before the Dwarf, clutching at his chest- though the pain was radiating from every synapse and nerve end in his body. "Varric what..." He ground his teeth together and a low rumble of pain rolled from his chest, "What happened?" His eyes were dull, no longer sharp and glinting, bright and alight. The green seemed grey now, and they held nothing but the torment of the last several months.

"I'm sorry, Broody... I should have done something-"

"There was nothing to be done!" His words were crisp and flashing, echoing through the great hall and silenced all other conversation. Though it seemed like the others were waiting for an excuse to stop eavesdropping and simple gawk in open intrigue. "He was my-... You knew he had to, you  _knew_  he was going to die." The words were feral, almost a growl and they churned and bubbled from his gut, "But  _why hasn't he come back?_ "

Varric did not know how to answer that, he frowned and looked around the room in hopeless, clueless confusion. "I..." He paused to think over the events, to visualize the death, to allow the ache of the loss to sink into his own heart as he considered the reasons. "He..." And then is struck him, a bolt of lightening from on high crashing down on him and he wanted to drop to his knees beside his companion.

" _The Fade._ " As if those two words said it all, as if Fenris would have any understanding of their meaning. "He died in the Fade. We went into the Fade, as ourselves, in our own bodies... Living beings. And... That's where he died."

With a viscious cry that riped from his throat, clawing it's way out with a violent passion Fenris raked his hands down his face, holding back the burning, scorching tears that threatened to pour down his face. His body heaveed and he felt as if he might vomit, the pain had caught up to him, the circumstances made real at last and he couldn't fight back the agony any more.

_Hawke's soul was lost._  He had been killed, living body, in the Fade. His soul had been released into the twisted labyrinth, that endless perdition.

Pain. All he could feel was the pain, was the wraith of reality crushing down upon him. The hall was so quiet it was deafening, the space around him too small, much too small, his lungs could not expand, he could not breathe. He could not stay. To be still was to be in pain, to remain was to be reminded of everything he had lost. Of how he had lost  _everything_. He scrambled to his feet and ran, with ragged breaths he streaked from the encampment, his chest swelling up and crumpling down around his heart all at the same time. He clutched at it, wished to rip it out himself so that he might be rid of the hurt, the loss, the horror of it all. He cursed the gods and the Maker and any forces that may have any control in that horrid, vile universe.

It took all of his self, all of his strength, all of his will to keep running. And even as his legs began to buckle and his body scream in protest he just kept running.

_This is all there is keeping me alive, keeping me going. this purposeless, destinationless sprint. This is all I have left._

* * *

Thousands of years passed, and Fenris remained through them all.

The last of the dragons died. Three more blights swept through the lands. Lyrium ran out and the Templars became a dying breed. Magic began to fade. It turned up less and less in children and was weaker than it had ever been before. One dwarf- one lone dwarf was born with such power but it was feeble, a mere shadow of what such powers used to hold. Governments rose and fell, wars were fought and lost, territorial lines a redrawn, kingdoms collapsed. Only the Orlesian Empire and Tevinter remained under the rule of a dictator. And even then they were voted into power and are more of a symbolic figurehead than an actual ruling person. Both nations having long ago formed senates.

Magic disappeared entirely.

Candles were traded in, and anbaric lighting took over. Devices that could send written messages instantly across great distances began to appear. Trains with great steam engines, wooden boxes through which a person could speak to millions of others. Massive flying balloons with metal undercarriages which, at first, caused Fenris to cower in fear with the reminder of the magnificent dragons that once stalked the land.

His markings began to flicker and die. Blue-silver scars left in their wake.

He was hunted for a while, people seeking out the legend of the immortal Lyrium warrior. But soon that faded, too, just a storybook tale. People forgot what once was, laugh at the idea of spells and mages, scoff at the mention of dragons and griffons. Ridicule those who call upon the Grey Wardens when, every hundred years, a round of plague cast it's wicked, seething shadow across the land, turning it's victims into decaying, bloodthirsty heathens. The legends of old were assembled into books, written by historians with fantastical imaginations and a pension for exaggeration. His stories,  _his life_ , all lies and grander made for small children and the very simple.

Cars, telephones, television, high rise office buildings.

The world changed around Fenris, 5,000 years gone by and still he remained.

Eventually the world forgot about him and he traded in the endless journey for a stiff drink.

* * *

His mind was already swimming in delicious, delirious alcohol, Fenris pressed smoothly into the next bar on the street. To say he was drunk was to say that fish swim, birds fly or that the snow is cold. He hadn't been sober in 100 long years, and drunk had become a more natural state for him at this point anyway. His every move and memory remained precise. He drink to take off the edge, not to forget the world entirely. He couldn't pinpoint the moment that he started feeling a _need_. He couldn't define why he didn't just stop and suffer through life the same as everyone else.

Every bar in town knew him and every bartender knew when he'd show up each night. He was the kind of patron you weren't supposed to serve, the kind of person who you should kick out and tell to get his life together. But he didn't own a car that anyone knew of, and seemed to have endless amounts of money to afford drink. He was never sloppy or out of line. Despite the hour and drink he remained calm, every move exact and with purpose. He'd never given anyone a reason to question his competence, and so they just kept serving him. The white haired male with his strange tattoos sat down hard in his usual stool at the end of the grimy, oak bar. He held up a nimble, yet steady finger and the tender dropped two glasses of low-shelf bourbon before him then moved away again. He did not like to talk.

Fenris sighed and raised the glass, speech drawling slowly from his mouth, dripping with sarcasm and venom, "6,122 great years." He tipped the glass back, letting the liquid burn slowly down his throat. It was the only thing that worked to dull the pain. It was the only thing that buzzed his body and stole away the ache and hurt of the eternal loss. It was the only thing that stopped the desperate throb in his heart. The only thing that could numb him entirely to the world.

Which was why, on that bitter cold night he did not notice when the ache eased- just a touch. Or when his soul stretched out in want, instead of desperate, painful, wild searching.

He did not notice that the world had finally righted itself and the Fade had at last relinquished it's hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome everyone!
> 
> I know that soulmates are so over done. And I know Modern Thedas is probably so boring.
> 
> BUT THIS TIME IT'S FEN CHASING AFTER HAWKE! So I've got that going for me, right?
> 
> I know I already have two other stories going but when an idea strikes me I just can't say no.


	2. I Will Wait

_"Now I'll be bold_  
_As well as strong_  
_And use my head alongside my heart_  
_So take my flesh_  
_And fix my eyes_  
_A tethered mind free from the lies_

 _And I'll kneel down_  
_Wait for now_  
_I'll kneel down_  
_Know my ground_

 _And I will wait,_  
_I will wait for you."_  
**_-Mumford & Sons (I Will Wait)_ **

 

The grey light of early dawn set Fenris’ room aglow and stirred him unpleasantly from his drunken slumber. He groaned and rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head, one dark hand fumbling helplessly across his bedside table. Long fingers curled around the narrow neck of a dark wine bottle, dragging the heavy glass and heaving liquid towards him. His other hand fumbled out to pull the loose cork from the mouth with a satisfying pop, the warm, sweet hum of alcohol sang to him through his nose and he sighed with the easy relief of the growing throb in his head.

He pulled the bottle laboriously towards his lips, feeling his heart slow and his body ease at the familiar feel of smooth glass against his mouth. Just as the dark liquid tickled against his tongue he paused, his mind grinding and struggling to click pieces into place. There was something missing from his body, something old and comfortable that he couldn’t quite place. He struggled with it, brow creasing in confusion, body pulsing with something… new.

The age old ache was gone. A low thunk rang with a cacophony of echoes at the sudden, perfect silence of his neigh empty bedroom.

_The pain was gone._

He pressed his now empty hand against his chest, as if the physical pressure would represent his mental awareness of the missing sensation. As if such an action would trigger a realization in the constant dull agony and remind it if it’s duty to keep him in touch with the keen absence of a piece of his own soul. He pressed but nothing happened. There was simply nothing there. The sudden loss brought up a new sorrow within his heart- a worry that his mate’s soul had died. What if he was truly alone now? What if the ritual had been broken? What if he was stranded without even the ancient ache to remind him of his own time, his own life? Lost in a world he called home if only because he had no other choice.

His soulmate had been gone, but was still alive in the eternal tug within his own being. He had been alone but he had at least had that connection, felt the presence of his lover’s soul within him at every moment- even if he couldn’t always handle feeling it at it’s full force. Even if he was dead, even if he was lost within the Fade- a realm Fenris wasn’t even sure existed any more. Even if he hadn’t seen him in 5000 years it hadn’t mattered. He had still been there, his soul had still called to him and that soft song had been enough to keep him going.

But now it was gone, silenced and Fenris felt the loss sharply. Deep in his mind a low voice whispered to him that his mate had returned, that his soul was alive once more. There was no more pain because finally he could be whole once more. A part of Fenris’ body rejoiced in the new life, was elated and excited, thrilled with the meeting which- though still decades away- seemed like only minutes after the thousands of years he had weathered alone. But another part withered at the loss of the sensation, the sensation that tied him to the man he loved, the sensation, that while it meant he was alone, kept him from being alone. And the next twenty years, he knew, would the the loneliest yet.

* * *

“Would you like to share…” The plump and overly warm Dwarven woman paused to double check his name tag, frowning with what she discovered there, “F?”

Fenris scowled and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes, growling out a tired, “Not particularly.”

The redheaded leader of their small group beamed at him and crossed her arms- not unlike the way he imagined a young child’s mother would. “I know it’s hard to talk about our problems, we all know. But sharing is the only way to get help. The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

His scowl deepened to a glare and he dropped his hand, “I’m here aren’t I?” He quirked an eyebrow, as if daring her to challenge him.

She gave a little huff of frustration and the smile across her lips became strained, “As anyone here will tell you sharing is very important. You’ve been coming for months and you’ve yet to speak, even if you don’t feel like it’ll help, I’m sure there is some one in this circle who will benefit from your story.”

Fenris’ lips tightened and his mind churned slowly to acceptance as he slumped back in his chair, arms crossed almost defiantly over his chest. Even so his voice rumbled out slowly from deep in his chest, “I lost someone. I knew they were never coming back but I didn’t want to deal with the pain.” He shrugged, “So I drank. Numbed everything just fine for my tastes.”

The woman nodded, face all full of concern and caring, so saturated in the emotions Fenris wanted to slap her and see how much of it actually stuck around. “That sounds so difficult. What finally brought you to these meetings?”

_I didn’t want to be a drunken slob when he finally returned._

Fenris swallowed the words and shrugged, “Just figured it was time to stop.”

“That is very brave.” She said, smiling sadly and looking around the circle, encouraging agreement in the others around her, “Such a difficult decision to make. We’re so glad you’re here.”

He scoffed a little but didn’t retort, just allowed them all to thank him for sharing and continue on with the meeting.

He had tried to quit on his own, laughing at the idea of addiction. He wasn’t addicted, he had only drunk because of the pain, and now that it was gone he would be fine. Apparently even the immortal Lyrium Warrior had vices and addictions that could overpower even his will. The sweating, nausea, hallucinations and headaches had all been too much, they’d driven him insane and soon the bottle was back in his hand. His decrepit little apartment in the old, seedy Kirkwall Alienage didn’t help matters at all.

It seemed that no matter how many years passed Elves would always be angry with Humans and Humans would eternally be uncaring of their plights. There hadn’t been any major wars between the two races but that didn’t mean things got any better. If anything each race had developed a more isolationist policy than ever. The Alienage got little to no funding from the city and thus was falling into quick disrepair and would soon be worse than Darktown itself. But it was still a luxury compared to the new Alienages popping up in Tevinter and the old ones crumbling away in Fereldan.

Even still the cold, dank, violent few blocks did little to help Fenris’ disposition and soon had him hitting the bottle again. Finally he had caved and begun attending the local AA meetings at the towering church still seated at the center of Hightown. It had been a long six months but he was finally starting to overcome the constant thrumming need for the sweet buzz of alcohol bubbling through his system. His nerves were finally fizzling back to life and his mind was just starting to break through the needy, desperate fog. He had no concern for his physiology, eternal life meant that his liver was functioning just as well as it ever had and the rest of his digestive system had hardly felt the corrosive punch of the vile toxin.

At last the group was dismissed and Fenris paced quickly from the meeting, not in the mood to get caught up for any reason.

* * *

Fenris had left Kirkwall mere weeks after that meeting. Something deep in his mind told him that Kirkwall was the right place to be when the time came for his mate to reappear- which meant he couldn’t stick around for the next 20-some-odd years. People would start to stare, begin to wonder, question why he wasn’t aging and who this man was. With his tattoos, his hair and his general stature for an Elf it took extra effort not to attract too much attention. And so he’d gone exploring, picking up odd jobs as he went, finding and bringing in wanted criminals in each city he passed. He’d spent a long time drunk and totally incapable working with any kind of weapon and so the practice was much needed. Swords were laughably ineffecient and archaic society. He could fight with his two-handed weapon in any condition but guns were more particular weapons that needed more focus than a blade. While his opponents were near laughable- magic was more terrifying than any weapon these criminal fools could conjure up, he still needed all his mind to take them in without killing them so he could collect his reward.

After nearly two decades he finally found his way back to Kirkwall, feeling the constant song and draw of the city pulse in his every bone and, when he couldn’t resist it any longer, he meandered his way home.

The present day found him sitting in a dingy office with a single window high up in the wall, one large desk and one light haired human behind the heavy oak desk. She cocked a suspicious eyebrow his direction, “It says here you have 16 years of bounty hunting experience?” Her voice was skeptical at best, outright calling him a liar at worst. His amber eyes flashed and dared him to try and come up with an excuse for the blatant trickery, “You’re… how old… 28? At most? You’re trying to tell me you’ve been doing this since you were 12?”

Fenris’ face was set and his bright eyes dare not stray from hers- this wasn’t his first time bullshitting his way through an interview, “No. I’m much older than it would appear.” Her eyes flicked down to the resume before her, looking over his stated age, “You want me to believe you’re 38-“ She paused to look back at him, anger now creeping into her gaze, “You want me to believe you’re 38?”

His lips twisted into a kind of sneer, “I am an Elf. Would that be so unbelievable?” The physiology of Elves was unknown to most, since the true isolation began. The only reference most Humans had were fables and ancient texts about the ways of the Elvhen people. In any case Fenris never debated it- after all the tales only worked in his favor. The woman was scowling again and something ticked at the back of his mind, the set of her jaw, the tight controlled plait of her hair and the strong stance of her shoulders pulled back images of Aveline and he felt a small catch in his throat.

She finally broke the stare, grabbed a red rubber stamp and marked his paperwork, “Very well. We’ll contract you on. But you fuck up even once-“ here her eyes met his once more, burning with a deep fire, “and you’re done, is that understood?”

His own smile was closer to a smirk and he stood, lean body towering over hers, despite what all the texts on race said he should look like. “Very well.” With a wave of her hand he cleared the room, body humming with a new buzz. A thrill that told him he was alive again, a swell of emotion that broke though the numb acceptance of his half-life.

His mate would be 18 now. They would meet at any time, there was no table, no formula, no designated “coming of age” at which they would meet. Fate would slam them together whenever it felt appropriate, and there was nothing Fenris could do about it. His body trilled at the idea, hummed with the apprehension and pleasure of the thought. All the sensations had slowly begun creeping back to Fenris. His smell, the feel of his body against his own, the strong circle of arms, the hot, desperate lips against his own. A chill ran up his spine and he bit back the soft grumbling groan that pressed up from his gut. He slowed his breathing, taking careful, purposeful, controlled pulls of air.

With the barest of smiles he stepped into the afternoon sun.

* * *

It only took 3 years and a fellow Bounty Hunter and... " _merchant_ " named Emelda to drag Fenris into the fold. She had lived in the city for only a few years but was the kind of person that immediately fit in where ever she went. She had the dark skin and hair that sang of the North-East coast and the tattoos and piercings and boating skills that pinned her homeland as Rivain. She tried to sleep with Fenris the first moment they met and hadn't stopped at least half-trying since then. When he hadn't responded to her advances she aimed for a friendship instead. When he just generally refused to talk to her she simply followed him around until he was forced to acknowledge her. After months of her dogging him, he finally caved and allowed her to drag him to a casino night with the rest of the "official" police force.

In truth he didn't really want to resist, she was the spitting image of Isabela and he felt his whole body yearn for the connection of someone familiar. She had dragged him to the force celebration and properly introduced him to Madaline (more often called Mads), the strawberry blonde police chief who had accepted his application all those months ago. She had befriended his neighbor, Sammy, during one visit and now he hadn't had a lone, quiet dinner in weeks. The other elf- who was on some kind of year-long rite away from her clan- was a sweet but simple girl, having spent too long too sheltered by her people. Fenris found himself protecting her from thieves and predators just as frequently as serving her dinner after work. Next was Tavares, a Surface Dwarf from a long line of Surface Dwarves and a serial writer for the several of the local Kirkwall journals and papers. He made for a good drinking buddy and a horrible card partner. Between his poker face and Emelda's cheating, Fenris never won a single hand. Stephens worked as a nurse in the local ER and had patched Fenris up more times than he could count- each time scolding him worse than his own mother, hell worse than even Avaline ever had. He'd snapped at him one night, they'd fought for 30 minutes and then Fenris had stormed out, and thus their relationship had been solidified. Not to say that stopped Emelda from pulling him into the group. Their last addition was Seamus, the youngest son in a long line of long forgotten royalty of Starkhaven who had come to Kirkwall to escape the family name and start a humble life all of his own.

With their small, rag-tag band assembled Fenris finally began to feel at home again. No one was quite like his old group, and nothing was exactly the same as it used to be, but it was close enough that if he closed his eyes it  _almost_ felt like he was back. Like if he opened them again just slowly enough Garrett would be sitting next to him giving him  _that smile_ that said he was  _so_ ready to leave. Fenris couldn't quite understand why it was that life that had stuck with him, that he had clung to more than any other, despite his memories flooding back to him about all the other lives they'd had. It wasn't their first, or even their fifth incarnation but it had been his favorite, and it had been their most important. Those were the deaths that had hurt the most. And now, with these people, it was almost as if  _their_ spirits had been brought back to him, as if giving him a second chance at the only goodness and glory he'd ever known.

And so it came as no surprise to Fenris (or anyone else for that matter) when, two years after their little band was complete, Damien (one of the new, young officers on the KPD) proposed to Mads and, of course, she said yes. They'd been together four years and everyone had seen it coming a mile away. That Mads would then turn around and ask Emelda to be her Maid of Honor  _was_ a surprise to everyone but everyone also agreed it would make for the best bachalorette party Thedas had ever known.

That she had insisted upon dragging  _Fenris_ along, instead of letting him go with the men was strange. But something about it just seemed...  _right_. Like he was meant to go with them, and so he had shrugged, feigning annoyance and disinterest, and trudged along with the group of shrieking, giggling girls to the only establishment that had withstood the ages- The Hangedman.

* * *

The once-seedy bar was now a ritzy night club, several stories high with a hotel attached. Emelda had rented out a private suite at the back of the club, as well as a double king bridal suite at the attached hotel. They were lead back to their private room where several bottles of champagne were propped in buckets of ice as well as a couple filled with sparkling water- Emelda had apparently called ahead and mentioned Fenris' predicament. He looked over at her and she just winked. He rolled his eyes then gave an undignified yelp as she slapped his ass and lead the rest of the party to the plush chairs provided.

After an hour everyone else was suffiently drunk and had enjoyed the loud, thumping music and churning dance of the club, they'd flirted with every bartender and finally had made their way back up to the private room. Once every one was seated again Emelda stood and held up her hands, swaying slightly on her tall heels, "Ladies!" She cried, her giggle almost disintigrating into an outright cackle, "-and gentleman." She quickly amended, giving him a devious smile, "I present TONIGHT'S ENTERTAINMENT!" She collapsed in a fit of hysteria into one of the chairs as the lights dimmed and the spot light on the stage at the far side of the room lit up. As the music started a young man slid from between the lush, purple curtains at the back of the small stage.

His hips rolled in a way that squeezed at Fenris' heart and caused his breath to falter. He swallowed hard and pressed his back hard against the chair, waves of heat and desire scorching through his body. His every nerve was on fire and one hand rubbed chaffingly against the all too soft velvet of the deep purple chair. Every tickle of the smooth fabric, every rub of his clothes against his nipples and thighs sent shocks through him. He muted a groan at the back of his throat and resisted the urge to arc his body up into the warm air, both out of the sheer _need_ to move and desperate want to escape the overload of sensation pulse through every inch of skin.

One of the stripper's hands slid down his body, pressing against the front of his pants and he trust his hips into it, allowing his head to drop back and reveal the long, clean expanse of his throat. The girls shrieked and blushed but all the noise faded away as Fenris felt a violent rush rocket through his body. A violent urge to mark him, to _claim_ him, to mar that perfect, lightly tanned expanse before him, as if presented to him on a silver platter. All the pleasure slid down his nerves, pooling low and hot in his stomach. His muscles coiled and flexed, hands going white as the clenched the arms of the chair, the only thing grounding him, the only thing fighting back against the hard press of his straining cock against his now too tight pants. His mind reeled and his every conscious and waking fiber of his his being fought against the urge to _take_ the man before them. He could see the whole scene, could feel the hot tight acceptance of the other man's body, the dripping scorch of drool from his mouth, the stinging flick of his tongue Fenris thanked the gods above that the music was so loud as a half-moan, half-growl ripped from his throat.

The sounds of the girls only intensified as the strong arm yanked forward and tore the pants, quickly followed by his shirt, from his body, revealing what could only be described as a "sexy police outfit" probably more suited for a sorority girl attending her first college Halloween party. The piercing, grating shrieks helped ground him more, though he could only feel his cock straining harder against his unforgiving clothing and their sounds didn't stop him from wanting to stuff his hands in his pants, take himself in his fist and come fast and hard and hot to the tight, lean, muscled man on the stage.

The man pulled off his sunglasses and strode towards the group, white teeth flashing in a charming smile, "Soooo, ladies-" A fresh wave of sighs, giggles and fierce blushes bubbled around the group and he offered them a low chuckle, "Who is the lucky lady tonight?" Fenris had to close his eyes as the voice sank into his mind like hot, dark chocolate and slithered straight to the already heated puddle low, low, _low_ between his hips.

Emelda attempted to shove Mads forward but the blonde woman slapped her hands away, "I am  _spoken_ for." She whispered fierce and harsh, but the high rosy tinge across her cheeks spoke volumes. Emelda just shrugged and winked, "I guess I'll go first then, lover boy." The man's smile grew and he stepped over to her, the lean, toned muscles of his abs and arms rolling beneath the tight, lightly tanned skin.

As he swung one leg over her lab Fenris felt an electric shock of jealousy, an almost painful jolt of possessiveness and his heart hammered harder against his ribs, as if trying to pound itself free and escape to nestle a new home within this other man. Then the stripper turned around and his rich, endless, ocean blue-grey eyes met Fenris' own, which were blown wide and black with pure, unrestrained, desperate lust, and his whole body locked. The moment froze and his mind halted and his mouth went suddenly dry- though this man seemed to notice none of it- he just winked and continued about his business... literally.

Only one word rang through Fenris' mind and suddenly all the pieces clicked together-  _Garrett Hawke._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support, I hope the reveal isn't a let down and that you're all as excited for the angst and UST to come as I am.
> 
> I hope you have all been having a wonderful holiday season and, if we're all very lucky, I'll get one more chapter up before January... but lets not get too hasty, okay?
> 
> Enjoy this chapter. I know it's not as juicy as it could be but I'm still very... very.. VERY new to this whole smut writing thing so please cut me some slack.
> 
> Thank you again, and let me know what you think! I can't wait to hear what you all have to say- you're all just the most wonderful people and thank you thank you thank you.


	3. Turn Me On

_"My poor heart, its been so dark_  
_Since you've been gone_  
_After all your the one who turns me off_  
_But you're the only one who can turn me back on_

_My Hi-fi is waiting for a new tune  
_ _My glass is waiting for some fresh ice cubes  
_ _I'm just sitting here waiting for you  
_ _To come on home and turn me on, turn me on"_

**-Norah Jones (Turn Me On)**

 

Fenris' body went rigid and his eyes never faltered in their gaze. Garrett Hawke.  _His Garrett Hawke_. His soulmate had taken many forms over the years, tall, short, fair and dark but always- always his eyes remained. Blue as bright as an early summer sky, but endlessly deep and as old as his soul. Fenris had forgotten so much over the years but never would the image of those eyes leave him. His mouth had gone dry, his jaw slack and hanging open like an idiot. The two things were probably not unrelated. His body had calmed, nerves easing slowly, mind churning and creaking to a halt, erection sinking reluctantly back into anonymity.

As the song ended the man stood and winked at Emelda, who fanned herself wildly with one hand while slipping some bills into the waistband of his tight, spandex shorts with the other. He smirked and gave her an extra roll of his hips before he moved back to the center of the room. "Now ladies, you didn't hire me for nothing." He smirked at Mads who quickly flushed and looked away. "You've got one more night of freedom, you think your hubby-to-be is holding back?" The other women hooted and hollared, pushing the bride-to-be's chair towards the center of their semi-circle.

"Fine, fine, fine!" She threw up her hands and stomped her feet down on the floor to fight off the pushing. "Just... Give me one more song, alright?" The women consented and then looked at each other, as if trying to decide who would go next, each too shy to admit she wanted a turn. Throughout the whole ordeal Fenris' eyes hadn't once left the man before them, mind memorizing every line of his body, taking in all the changes and re-writing his mental image with careful detail.

"- FENRIS!" He was startled back to reality, gaze quickly snapping away from this  _not Hawke_. He cleared his throat, trying to push the red stain from his cheeks. "Fenris what?" He practically snarled, though he didn't mean to be cruel. Emelda just rolled her eyes and lounged back in her chair, "It's  _your_ turn."

"No." He gave his reply almost before Emelda had finished speaking.

She scowled and leaned forward, "Yes. You're here aren't you? To have fun, right?"

"No. I will not be danced on by some half-naked-"

"What? Man?" She laughed whole heartedly, her entire body shaking with delight, "Oh please, please try to explain how you're  _straight_."

He floundered for words. He'd never been flamboyant or outgoing about his preferred sexuality but some how-

"Puh-lease, anyone who can resist  _my_ charms has something up." She winked and sat back once more, waving the stripper casually over to Fenris.

Fenris' whole body tightened as the man approached, hips swaying easily, a casual charming smile spread across his face, creasing his eyes. "No need to be  _afraid_ , I only bite if you ask." He paused, "And pay a bit extra" Fenris wanted to jump up, to launch the chair out from underneath himself and streak from the room. His body ached to make contact, his mind stretched out to the man, dying to talk, to catch up, to  _know_. But not like this. This was not the man he knew and he could feel the act rolling off of him like cologne.

He was wracked with indecision and before he had a chance to even open his mouth the song picked up and he felt the hot weight of another body on top of his lap. Fenris' hands shot to the arms of his chair and gripped until his knuckles whitened and his fingers went numb.

The rest of his body was so far out of his control he was embarrassed. His hips rolled fluidly against the other man's motions, rising and falling in time. He draped his body back across Fenris', head lolled onto his shoulder and it took every ounce of restraint not to turn and seal his lips to salty skin, to trail a path of burning kisses from neck to ear and whisper all the filthy things he wanted to do to him. He felt his breathing pick up, hot, panting gasps cascading across the bared flesh before him. The music, and feminine squeals, was too loud to hear anything but Fenris  _felt_ the low rumble of a groan roll through the other's body. For a moment his motions became erratic, no long smooth and timed with the music. A small spark of satisfaction caught in his chest and began to drift lower, settling low in his pelvis.

The man sat back up, rolling his hips again, trying to get back on track, trying to settle into the rhythm of the music once more. He ground down against Fenris, tight, round ass sliding against his renewed erection. It must have been a surprise to both of them because for just a moment he settled there, pushing back against his customer's straining length, back bowing at the sensation. Again, he recovered, and turned around, perhaps deciding that this was the safer of the two positions.

His hips gyrated against Fenris', and the elf's pelvis continued to follow the motion, riding the churning roll. The other reached up, fingers interlocking behind his head as he stretched, body arching forward, as if begging to be touched. Fen's fingers twitched and itched to move, to slide up that body, to trace the lines fine muscles had carved into the flesh before him, to tease his lips and sink into his mouth.

He had lost himself in thought and before he could stop it one nimble finger swept easily across the strippers abdomen, swirling around his belly button before sliding up along the groove between his muscles. Fenris knew the rules, no touching, never touching, that was never a thing you were allowed to do-

But the man wasn't pulling away. There was no scolding, no slapping, not even a flinch. If anything he had dropped his head back and caved forward into the contact. Then his head lifted and their eyes met, green turned black by blown-wide pupils and bottomless blue. Their gaze hung for several long, heavy, heated moments, both panting deep and hard, each unwilling to break the connection.

A final bass thump and drum roll ended the song and just as quickly as it had started it all ended. The man slid back, mask falling back into place with a wink, as if the whole thing had been planned, as if he was so smug at having wrapped Fenris so thoroughly around his pinky. He cleared his throat and turned back to the women, "Now, party girl, you ready?" Mads, full face still flushed red, nodded and allowed her seat to be pushed to the center.

This time Fenris didn't watch. His eyes stayed locked with the ground as he struggled to reign in his breathing and slow his pounding heart.

Garrett. It had to be Garrett. There was no mistaking it, no confusion, he knew. Garrett had returned again, and for that he thanked the Maker. But why he had to return like this...

Fenris supposed, after a moment's thought, that it could certainly have some benefits.

* * *

Once the show was over the females had returned to the dance floor to drink a little more and dance off all the excitement of the evening. Fenris decided that he needed some air and had excused himself from their group, promising to return shortly and with more drinks. He had wandered around the building and finally settled on a shadowy spot in a dismal little ally around the side, next to what he assumed was the employee entrance. He didn't want to stand out front and deal with the noise of the crowd waiting to enter. He needed peace, space and quiet to calm his mind and gather his thoughts.

He had his eyes closed and forehead pressed against the night-chilled bricks of The Hangedman when a squeaking shriek punched through the otherwise still air. He jerked upright, hand naturally reaching over his shoulder, groping for a weapon he no longer carried. The figure stepping out into the night looked over to him and frowned, hesitating in his forward motion, unsure of the intentions of the shadowed stranger.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." The voice was smooth and rolled with a light Fereldan accent, a lilt the elf knew well. Fenris just nodded at the apology, "I did not intend to lurk." He replied, stepping out from the shadow and into the light of the street lamp. The human paused as he saw Fenris' face then coughed awkwardly, a faint color rising to his cheeks.

"Ah, it's you."

Once again their eyes met and once again the bolt of recognition hit Fenris. He felt his throat tighten and his mouth dry with the refreshed wave of desire. Through it all he managed to croak out a rough, "Yes, me."

"Seemed like a fun party, those ladies seem like a real hoot." The comment was dry and awkward, as if the other was just trying to fill the space between them.

"It is." Fenris confirmed, wanting to say more but unable to find the words through a mind clouded with a swirl of emotions he was unable to restrain. As silence stretched between them the human shifted uncomfortably, while Fenris remained motionless, eyes never leaving the other man.

"I'm Hyatt, by the way." He finally blurted out, almost desperate kill the silence. When it dragged on to long a humming seemed to thrum between them, their bond pulsed and called out, pulling them together. He continued quickly, "Hyatt Alexander Wikens... Most of my friends call me Hawke. It's just my initials... Kinda... But it sounds pretty cool, right?" He tried to chuckle but it came out strained. "I feel like some kinda bad ass. Hawke, right?" He scratched at the back of his neck, purposefully avoiding Fenris' gaze. "What about you, what do I call you?"

The familiar name melted like honey into his ears and wrapped, warm and low in his gut. He wanted to say it, to repeat it back, to feel the weight of the syllable on his tongue and to roll it around in his mouth. He didn't linger on those thoughts, pushing them aside and offering an abrupt, "I'm Fenris."

"It's good to meet you, Fenris." Chills rippled up his spine and goosepimples cascaded down his arms at the sound of his name flowing easily from Hyatt's mouth. 

The elf restrained himself to a simple nod, once again letting the silence fall. Hyatt furrowed his brow, lips working to form a sentence, small sounds escaping but never settling into actual words. After several long seconds he finally choked out, "I'm so sorry. That was unbelievably unprofessional... Up there... When I was dancing... I don't... I'm sorry."

Now it was Fenris' turn to frown, "I'm unsure what you're apologizing for, but whatever it is, it's fine."

"I guess I'm not used to my male clients reacting... like that. Usually it's just a joke, a show, for the ladies, you... you caught me off and I uh..." He let out a little chuckle, "I don't know what came over me, I'm really sorry about it, though. I hope it wasn't too uncomfortable."

The high of finally having his mate back was seeping into his brain, making him bold, so Fenris took a step forward, voice a low rumble in his chest, "I wasn't going to complain..."

Hyatt's eyes went wide and and his jaw dropped, utter shock ringing from him, "Oh..." Then nervous giggling overtook him, "Oh I'm so sorry, I don't... Um-" Fenris' face must have stiffened at the laughter because it quickly stopped and Hyatt's demeanor turned serious and anxious once more, "I'm sorry if I made you think.. uh... It's just I, uh, I don't  _like_ men like that..." His whole face reddened and some of it trailed down his neck, "I'm so sorry, like I said, I don't know what happened but it's very unusual, I'm a ladies man, totally straight. I didn't mean..." He was fumbling again and finally he gave up and muttered a quiet, "I'm so embarrassed, I'm so sorry."

Fenris was more disbelieving than angry or frustrated. He wanted to laugh, to tilt his head to the sky and let bubbles of it flow straight from his gut and ring in the night. Straight? Hyatt thought he was  _straight_? Instead Fenris cocked an eyebrow and nodded a little, "I understand." He reached out a hand, "It was a pleasure meeting you  _Hawke_." The voice rolled off his tongue, low and rumbling. He saw a hard shiver run up the human's back at the sound and allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction.

When Hyatt took his hand to shake Fenris could see that they both felt the pulsing shocks tickling up their arms, the bond pulling them together. His smirk grew a fraction when Hyatt's breath hitched and his words caught in his throat. Finally he swallowed and slowly drew his hand back, eyes locked on Fenris'. "It was... nice to meet you, too. I've uh... I've gotta get back to work though, you know how it is, the people just keep coming and someone needs to be there to keep them entertained." His act was back and, with his signature wink he turned and sauntered back into the club, hips swaying carelessly as he retreated.

Fenris stayed rooted to his spot until the heavy metal door banged closed and the ally fell into heavy silence once more. His fingers still tickled from their recent contact and his heart was thumping so hard it was rattling his whole rib cage. When he had calmed himself enough to maintain his composure he returned to the club as well, buying drinks and seeking out his party, pushing all thoughts of his new Hawke from his mind and trying to concentrate on the celebration.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with me here! I'm sorry I've been so absent, things just got really busy. This post is a little rushed but I was really excited to continue this story. I've only ever written smut once before (see my other story) and I've hardly ever done sexual tension so this is a really tricky line for me to walk. I'm excited to be challenging myself because this is so different from what I usually write.
> 
> If you have any advice or suggestions please, please, please let me know. Anything I could add to make it better, phrasings you all like, different ways of describing things. You can either comment it or email it to me (my email is in my profile).
> 
> Thank you all again, you inspire me every day with your wonderful spirit and incredible comments. I do love you all dearly and I appreciate you all so very, very much. Please keep commenting, letting me know what I do well and what I could do better.
> 
> Have a wonderful week!


	4. Help

 

 _Help, I need somebody_  
_Help, not just anybody_  
_Help, you know I need someone_  
_Help!_

 _When I was younger, so much younger than today_  
_I never needed anybody's help in any way_  
_But now these days are gone I'm not so self-assured_  
_Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors_

 _Help me if you can, I'm feeling down_  
_And I do appreciate you being 'round_  
_Help me get my feet back on the ground_  
_Won't you please, please help me?_  
**-The Beatles (Help!)**

 

 

"Pancakes, the short stack of waffles, hash browns, two fried eggs and six orders of bacon."

"Ma'am, the bacon comes with 5 pieces an order."

Emelda just watched the waiter, blinking pointedly. The young man didn't scamper off to retrieve her order, simply shifted awkwardly under her intense gaze.

"She's well aware." Fenris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"But that's 30 pieces of bacon-"

"Yes-" She snapped, slapping her palm down on the plastic, faux-wood table, "And four pancakes, two waffles, two cups of hash brown, and two fried eggs!" Once again he didn't move, just stared, though a bit of fear seemed to creep into the corners of his eyes, "DO I NEED TO ADD SOME TOAST?"

Fenris tried to hold back a smirk at her snark and failed miserably.

Still the boy did not move.

Fenris leaned over and murmured very quietly, "If you have any particular attachment to all the various parts of your body, and a love of all things painless and joyful you will retrieve the lady's food..." He paused, waiting for a response, " _Now!_ " Finally the boy seemed to get it and he fled, quickly, to the kitchen.

Emelda groaned and let her face fall to the table with a heavy  _thunk_. "This is why we always go to that local place down the street. These chain restaurants  _suck_."

He nodded in agreement and carefully unwrapped the silverware from the napkin place before him. "You're awful chipper for a morning after." Fenris commented quietly, arching one eyebrow as his eyes rose to meet her withering stare.

"Oh, that's all your fault, Mr. if-you-want-to-get-a-ride-home-in-my-car-you-need-to-drink-water-because-if-you-throw-up-you're-going-to-clean-it-yourself."

"That is quite the name, I do usually go by simply Mr. sensible-friend."

Emelda crossed her eyes and mocked the sentence in a deep, frog-sounding voice. Fenris just rolled his eyes and returned to his task of rescuing his knife and fork from the confines of the paper napkin.

Twenty minutes, and several plates of food, later Emelda was back to her regular self. She let loose a might belch that had the kids three tables over giggling and their parents scowling. She just winked then turned her attention back to Fenris, who was sitting back with his eyes closed, letting his omelette and orange juice digest.

"Soooooooooo...."

He knew that word. He knew that tone. He knew exactly where the conversation was turning. "Nope." He gave his head a small shake and raised his eyebrows, "Nope. Don't even-"

"What did you say his name was?"

His head continued to rock languidly from side to side, "Nope."

"Blue eyes, right?"

He knew this game. He always lost, but not this time, not this time, "Nope."

"Grrrrrrreat ass."

He paused, tempted to agree, tempted to throw her off by simply going with it because, Maker above, did he want to talk about it. 6000 years had dragged on so long. He had been so alone. He had been so lost. And gods above, to have Hawke back... He just wanted- "Nope."

"I'm guessing red. He seems like a red man. Something tight, but not a thong, too tacky, he seemed like he had a bit of class... for a stripper."

"Good lord, Isabela, we're in a god damn family establishment!"

There was a poignant pause in the conversation, causing Fenris to crack one eye open, spying his female companion suspiciously.

"Isabela?" She waggled her eyebrows, "Ooooh, I like that, do go on."

Fenris opened his other eye and blinked, brow furrowed. He'd called her... Oh fuck. It was just such an Isabela thing to say. He'd come close to calling all of his new companions by the names he had always known, on several occasions. He'd never actually slipped up, though. His lips pursed, slightly down turned at the corners, displeased with the current mess he'd decided to roll around in, "Just someone I used to know... Reminds me of you."

She winked, "Used to know? Former lover? Oooh, saucy, maybe you're not as gay as I thought."

"No. Just a friend. I knew her... a long time ago." A sudden, yet viscous, stab of sorrow and pain lanced through his chest at the memory of her face, so like Emelda's. Of her jokes, of her smile, of her presence. Something must have shown in his face because the atmosphere between them changed almost immediately. "I didn't mean..."

This was a side of her he'd rarely, if ever seen. His mind was instantly suspicious, but his heart knew better. She had a soft side, she really did care, and she'd probably never seen any kind of reminiscence from him before. He'd never mentioned his time before he came to Kirkwall this time around. Never hinted at his travels, never even made up a story, he just appeared one day and everyone had accepted it.

He swallowed, a feat that was far more difficult than it should have been, "I am fine." He hesitated. He could tell her. She wouldn't believe him for a second, she'd laugh in his face, think it was all a joke. Maybe that was what he needed? To laugh this all off? But if he were to share his story with anyone why wouldn't it be her? She who had found him, had dragged him into their circle, who had, in her own way, cared for him- especially when he first quit drinking.... Why shouldn't she know? Besides Garrett, Isabela had been his closest friend...

"Lets pay, get out of here." He muttered, flagging down their waiter, dropping some bills in his palm without another word before exiting the diner swiftly, Emelda on his heels.

She knew better than to pester him all the way home about it. She knew better than to push and pry. She knew better than to try and joke. She was silent, intent, Fenris could feel her whole concentration on him, ready, waiting, curious, and a particular kind of restrained eagerness. She hesitated when Fenris stepped up to the front door of his apartment. He turned to her, raising a brow and waiting. She took a few moments, an intrigued flicker in her eyes, but did step forward eventually.

Fenris did not bring people home. He did not let people into his apartment. He'd never even mentioned where he lived, never let anyone walk him home, never even suggested that a group event happen at his place. Something was deeply strange and he could see an excited glimmer in Emelda's eyes. He wasn't one for pretense or suspense. He didn't want to make a show of everything, didn't want to turn it into a presentation, he was opening up, he was exposing a piece of himself that no one in 6000 years had ever known. He clicked the lock open and pushed the door inwards, stepping aside to let Emelda enter first.

She stepped in cautiously, eyes scanning the large studio. At first her shoulders slumped, a disappointed sigh slipping from her lips, until her dark eyes fell to the Blade of Mercy perched over a faux mantle. "Woah." She breathed, stepping up to it, fingers dancing lightly across the shining metal, "This is-" Her head turned and caught sight of his old armor, heavy, warn, but shining in the morning light. "What-?" With every new discovery her spirit picked up.

The book of Shartan on his bedside.  
The Amell crest.  
Aveline's shield of Dragon Scales that had been gifted him, which prompted an, "Are these.... real?" He'd simply nodded.  
Bethany's staff.  
A small vial of Lyrium.

She paused finally at a display of twin daggers. Sharp, sparkling, elegantly and beautiful in their lethality. She lifted the glass cover over them and drew one into each hand. They sank into her palms as if they'd never left, they were as much an extension of her as they ever had been for Isabela.

"Those were hers." He explained simply. She lifted to wonder at them, giving one a careful spin around her hand and catching it easily once more. She looked over to him, face all questions.

"Collections, from my life." He stepped forward and lifted the daggers from her hands, "Isabela was a pirate." He allowed a small quirk to tilt one side of his mouth upwards as he set the daggers down, "When she wasn't trying to sleep with me- or anyone else in our party for that matter- she was fighting. And when she wasn't doing that, she was trying to guess the color of my underwear, or the underwear of anyone who'd listen." At that he allowed a small snort of amusement.

He didn't turn back to Emelda and a silence grew between them, purposeful and pregnant, he could  _feel_ her thinking, processing, trying to understand.

"Well, did she ever get it right?"

That drew a full smile and pulled a short laugh from the elf, who finally turned to face her, "Eventually. But that is not the point." She nodded and became serious once more.

"Some of this stuff..." She approached the shield again and ran her fingers gently over it, " _Dragon scales?_ "

Fenris smirked a little, "Dragon scales... I should know, I killed it myself. With help of course. Garret Hawke, our fearless leader and my..." He trailed off a kind of far away feeling taking over him as he remembered his mate's face. The boisterous smile, the roaring laugh, the feel of his body against his own, the moment of unbearable pain when he was ripped away--

Emelda frowned, "Your...?" Fenris just shrugged in response and she understood immediately. She quickly snapped out of her train of thought with a wild waving of her hands, "Wait, Fenris, seriously?  _A Dragon?"_

"Red Dragon. Up in the abandoned mines not too far from here, actually."

"Fenris-"

"This... Lyrium." He lifted the small vial, "Probably the last of the stuff... It ran out, then the magic ran out." He twisted his lips into a look of disgust and confusion, "Tricky substance... Blocked magical abilities in nonmages but made mages unstoppable..." His eyes drifted to the silver-blue scars that danced up his arm before setting the bottle down once more

"I get it, Fenris, very funny, ha-ha, playing a joke on Emelda, 'cause she's so gullible and dumb she'll believe that not only are  _magic and dragons_ real, but you were alive, what... 10,000 years ago to see them."

"6,000." He corrected quickly, "They were there long before. And they were there for some time afterwards... But that was the peak. That was when the old world was at it's height. That's when I stopped caring."

Emelda was frozen, eyes narrowed, studying him, trying to decipher if he was lying. She could read people like picture books. She had correctly identified every lie Fenris had ever told, as well as everyone else in their circle. She frowned harder and stepped up, into his personal space and pressing her face close to his. "No." She breathed quietly.

"I have seen the Grey Wardens. I've lived through eight blights. I have fought Dragons and Darkspawn. I watched as the world I had known all my life crumbled into ruin as a modern era took hold. You don't need to believe, it's simply true" This wasn't some kind of sob story. He wasn't trying to elicit pity, and even if he was Emelda would be the last to give it. That's why he had chosen her, that's why she was here. She would know, with out truly knowing, exactly what to do, how to respond.

Most importantly, he knew she would  _believe_ him.

"So... So what does all this have to do with--" She waved her hand and rolled her hips suggestively.

"Hyatt... Hyatt Alexander Wikens." His mouth worked, trying to pull the sounds up, trying to say the name. Saying it in front of Hyatt was one thing, that was in the moment, with a scalding concoction of emotions scorching through his viens. Here, in the daylight, with someone else, it was like admitting it could be real. It was as if he was really facing it, fully understanding it all for the first time. "Hawke... His initials... His friends call him Hawke."

She paused, blinking, "Wait, Hawke, like--?"

Fenris rose his eyes to meet hers, "Just like."

"But how is that... Wait, how are you, for that matter?"

A very small, very satisfied smile crinkled his eyes, "I'll show you... Do you have a minute?"

"Oh," She laughed incredulously, linking her arm through his, "Oh for this I have  _all the minutes_." His face pinkened, though he didn't break the contact. It was the first nonviolent physical contact he'd had in 6000 years besides the lap dance last night and he found that, for this moment, he didn't mind terribly much.

* * *

It was a five hour drive to get to the Dalish reservation nestled deep in the woods to Kirkwall's northwest. Emelda cocked an eyebrow, "A Dalish reservation? No Dalish even live here anymore, they were driven out and it was made into some kinda fucked up museum."

Fenris gave a slight nod, "This is where I was born."

Emelda started, whipping her head around to look at him, "Are you serious? No Dalish have lived here in-"

"Over 8000 years." He finished, finding that his patience was holding up rather well. He stepped from the car and waited for Emelda to join him. She slowly approached, allowing him to lead them through the main entrance. They waited in a small line for the next guided tour, Emelda entirely silent, allowing the atmosphere to sink in, allowing the reality of the day to settle into place in her mind.

When it finally started they stayed towards the back and Fenris whispered quietly in between her explanations, expanding, correcting, clarifying.

"Legend has it that clans had magical leaders, known as Keepers who would run and protect the clan. Modern science has proved much of what was once considered magic to be simple tricks using various elements or slight of hand--"

Fenris scoffed and murmured quietly to Emelda, "Mages did not use elements and tricks. We might not have known the science of today but we were not dumb. They summoned demons, altered reality, called upon the elements as they there were loyal dogs."

Emelda frowned harder and crossed her arms over her chest, body near quivering with indecision and disbelief. It's sometimes hard to hear that the world as you know it is entirely wrong. It was probably not terribly unlike watching your life get twisted into myth and legend before your very eyes, Fenris thought slyly, a small spark of satisfaction flickering in his face.

The tour meandered on, mixing fact with myth more often than Fenris was comfortable with until finally they reached the last stop along the tour of the old Dalish camping site.

The Willow.

The long, white vines hung low, braided and entwined. No moss had touched her bark, no insect or animal dared enter her shadow. She stood tall, towering and unchanged. His heart began to pound as his eyes scoured the swaying branching for any sign of life. No leaves hung and rustled in the stirring wind. No blooming flowers poured their color and enchanting scent into the world. His blood ran cold and his breath hitched on every inhale. As the group circled the tree he wanted to run to it, to sift through the branches and find their leaves, he was still alive and so they must be there.

He had seen them bud, had watched them grow, had seen them blossom into flower in the spring and caught every petal as they fell until they were leaves once more. If they were gone what did that mean? Was all he knew a lie? Had he just been searching out people who reminded him of his first, his only love? How had he lived so long? Had the magic finally died away altogether, was this his final lifetime? And, the most terrifying of all, was their bond finally broken?

But as he rounded the back of the tree he spied them. Two small sparks of green among a mass of grey and white.

"This tree hasn't bloomed or borne leaves for as long as any one can remember. Except-" She pointed to the two leaves Fenris was staring at in relief, "those two. Every spring they bloom, every summer they shed their petals and grow to leaves once more. Even in fall and winter they remain. There are legends that tell of soul mates who were bonded under trees just like this, Grand Willows they were called--" Fenris rolled his eyes, causing Emelda to snort in laughter, "-- And once two souls were bonded a piece of each self would appear, as a leaf, on the Willow. Rumor has it that there were once many leaves on this tree, until the magic disappeared and then, pair by pair, they all fell away... Leaving just. those. two." She smiled wistfully at them, "Imagine that. To be bonded, by your very souls, to live forever with the one you love. Your one soul mate. I like to pretend those stories are real. I like to look up at those leaves and send my prayers to the maker that those two are still alive and well, that they have found a way to transcend time and the death of the magic that held them together."

The rest of the group whispered and cooed, taking pictures and fawning over the story, the symbolism, and the thoughts of true love. Couples clung closer together, those who had come alone closed their eyes in prayer, or perhaps in contemplation. Fenris felt bile rising up in his throat, and a rage rushing through his blood, pounding in his temples. Life wasn't some wonderful fairy tale. True love wasn't easy. True love was so strong that it ripped apart the soul and killed it over and over and over in increasingly painful and horrifying ways. And that's if it was love at all. All it took were two souls that resonated well, or could be manipulated using  _blood magic_ to do so. Such dumb stories, such warped and romanticized fairy tales. He was about to step forward and spout off all he had thought in the past minute when he was interrupted.

"So that's..." Emelda's voice pulled him back and his gaze snapped back to the tree.

His mind faltered, flickering through responses, adjusting to the shift in topic, "Us... Yes." A crooked, forlorn smile quirked at the corners of his lips, "His name was Soren Hawk."

"Hawk?" She murmured quietly, not wanting to disturb the people around them.

"He always has been. His family bred them for their village. 'Go see the hawk family.'"

"Every time?"

Fenris shrugged, "I'm sure the spelling changed each incarnation but it was always there."

Silence hung around them and between them as they gazed up at the twin leaves, pressed together high up, above the shadow and gloom of the world, embracing in the warm, afternoon sunlight.

"Why you?"

He shook his head and shrugged again, "My tattoos were crafted out of Lyrium. I imagine that has stored our magic, kept our bond alive."

Emelda opened her mouth to reply when came a soft tap on Fenris' shoulder. He jerked away suddenly, spinning to look at the conversational interlopers. It was a couple, man and woman, probably in their early twenties. He looked them over and cocked an accusatory eyebrow, "Yes?" The woman looked pleadingly at her.... whoever he was, so he stepped forward, broad smile, hand extended, "Bradly, it's so nice to meet you--"

Fenris didn't so much as flinch, "Can I help you?" His words were slow and sounded more like a demand than an actual question. This startled the man who jerked his hand back awkwardly and cleared his throat, trying to find his train of thought. Fenris sighed impatiently and flicked his eyes impassively between the pair.

"Right, well, we noticed that you're an elf--"

He snorted his derision but didn't interrupt otherwise.

"And we were wondering if you knew anything more about this tree."

His face darkened, "No." He left the syllable hanging heavy and festering in the air as he turned, took Emelda's elbow and guided her from the long-forgotten campsite.

* * *

The five hour ride home had been filled with noise and questions. Emelda couldn't seem to fully comprehend the weight of everything Fenris had told her. Each question was asked several times, in several different ways, and was followed up by at least a dozen more questions along the same lines. For his part, Fenris answered calmly and remained passive. He couldn't imagine what a weight this was for her to bear. She was re-writing her whole history, rediscovering her entire universe. He knew it would take time.

When they returned to Kirkwall he pulled up outside her house and stomped down the emergency break, looking over to her with expectation. She had been silent for the past twenty minutes- since they'd arrived at the city limits. As if she was afraid to ask or to speak of such things where there were other people around them, as if they might sense her questions, or her shifting realizations.

She sat still and silent for several dragging moments longer before she turned to meet Fenris' gaze with her own, dark eyes, a playful, almost devious smirk touching her lips and eyes.

"I'll call you tomorrow with the plan. Get home safe." With out a single breath more she slid from the car and was swallowed up by the night.

* * *

His clock was all too eager to alert him that it was, in fact, 0005. Why his phone was buzzing cheerily away, rattling abrasively against his bedside table, he could not guess. But it had been doing so without pause for the past 5 minutes, and he could only assume it would continue to do so until he picked up. Groggily, and more than a little agitated, he snatched the small, black object from it's resting spot, flipped it open and pressed it to his ear.

"Emelda, what could you possibly want?"

"I said I'd call you tomorrow."

Fenris winced at the bright chipper in her voice and rolled to smother his face in his pillow, muffling his words, "I understand. I suppose it was my mistake for assuming you meant at a decent hour, when normal humans are awake."

"Well, you know what they say about assumptions."

He sighed, "No, I don't."

There was a long silence, "Oh... Well.... I dunno, something about making an ass out of yourself, I suppose. EITHER WAY, the plan is made, when can you be here?"

"Seven hours." He groaned, pulling the covers up over his head, as if that would stop the phone from jabbering right into his ear.

"What? Did you go back to that Dalish place?" She sounded confused, but almost excited about the idea as well, "Oh, oh, oh, do  _you_ have some secret Dalish plan that I don't know about?"

"No."

"Well, what then?"

"I'm sleeping."

She paused again, mulling the situation over, "Well... Fine. I suppose it will give me time to perfect my plan."

He could almost hear the disappointment in her voice. But he knew this trick as well and so he replied simply, "Good. Night." And snapped the phone shut before she could say anything else.

* * *

It was a brisk morning, classic of the later summer months in Kirkwall. Fenris stood, hands stuffed in pockets, eyes shifting to scan the area. Emelda lived in a nice neighborhood but old habits die hard. Between living in the slums and being endlessly chased for thousands of years he wasn't sure he knew how to totally relax anymore. His gaze snapped to the door as it clicked and swung inward.

He frowned and stepped back, "Vares?"

The dwarf smirked satisfaction at his surprise and crossed his arms, "Trying to sneak around, eh? Thought we wouldn't find out?"

Uncertainty twisted his face and his lips thinned. He wasn't sure what he felt more- anger at Emelda for telling every one  _his_ secret.  _his_ life, or rage at himself for having trusted the loud-mouthed bitch in the first place.

Tavares chuckled softly, "Oh, broody, please-" the name used to put him off, send something cold lancing through his chest, "We would have found out once you started bringing him around."

The anger turned to confusion, "What?"

"Hyatt, the stripper, your schoolgirl crush one him- the subject of my next serial. I'll need your account of what happened later."

The tension eased from his body and his head dropped in a slight nod. So she hadn't told them. He shook his head once, of course she hadn't. He was just so nervous, so on edge. "I'm telling you nothing." He smirked at Vares' disappointed groan and slipped by him into the building.

"Don't worry. I'll get it out of you eventually, you know!"

Fenris stepped into the living room and wanted to bash his head against the wall. The  _entire_ gang was there. Sammy looked up and beamed, waving her arm around wildly. Seamus and Stephens both ducked quickly to avoid an unintentional beating. Mads reached out from her spot on a chair next to the trio and carefully pressed Sammy's arm back into her lap. "I think he sees you."

The elf beamed, "Oh- Oh good!" and turned her attention back to the child-sized easel Emelda was standing before. Her arms were crossed, one foot tapping sharply in impatience. Vares slinked around Fenris and plopped down in a single chair on the opposite side of the sofa than Mads. Sammy slid over, squishing herself against Stephens and patting the space made eagerly. Fenris sat gingerly, nodding a greeting to Seamus, who sat on his other side.

"Now that even the laziest of us has arrived-" She gave a pointed, disapproving glance to Fenris, "- let us begin." She uncrossed her arms and slapped the ruler she held in her hand against the tiny whiteboard. His gaze turned to what was written there, "For three years we have watched Fenris drag his ass around, slovenly, lonely, socially inept, sexually inept-"

"What-"

Sammy patted his thigh and shushed him, nodding along eagerly with Emelda's words.

"Now, as we have observed, via exhibit Alpha-"

"Exhibit Alpha?" He narrowed his eyes.

Emelda sighed heavily, "A video from the night of The Event."

Fenris blinked several times and then scowled, a cloud forming over his demeanor. "Are there lengths you won't go to?"

She ignored him and continued on as though here had been no interruption, "As was displayed for us by Exhibit Alpha, it is clear that Subject Zulu is in need of our assistance in relation to Subject Yankee." The group all nodded, some giving quiet  _mhmmm_ s.

Stephen leaned back with arms crossed, observing quietly, "I'd like to point out that this is entirely a waste of time."

Everyone groaned and sighed, calling out a chorus of  _oh my god shut up_ ,  _seriously no body cares_.

Stephens snorted, "Listen, we are living in a system of oppression and servitude and we're here-"

"You're just jealous because Hyatt is handsome and we're hooking him up with Fenris." Emelda groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

"Hyatt is also  _straight_ , or do no one care about that? You'd be offended if someone was convinced Fenris was actually not gay and tried to turn him!"

"You can get out. Or you can shut up." Emelda started sharply, gaze piercing Stephens, who shifted uncomfortable.

"I'm just-"

" _Shut up. Get out. Pick one._ " She cocked an eyebrow and waited for him to sink back into the sofa, arms crossed, stewing in his own anger.

She smiled broadly and flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes resetting and starting the battle briefing once more, "So, as I was saying, the problem with have is that Subject Yankee believes that he is not attracted to Subject Zulu. Or any creatures of Subject Zulu's type."

"I'm right here." Fenris ground out between clenched teeth.

"Shush, Subject Zulu, we're listening to Emelda." Sammy whispered, eyes not leaving the other woman.

"Now, I have formulated a very specific and scientific five-step plan of attack." She slapped the ruler against the whiteboard once more, this time next to the item labeled 1, "Phase 1, intrigue." She winked and gave a saucy wiggle of her hips, which drew a blush to Sammy's cheeks, a snort from Stephen and Mads and an embarrassed shift of gaze from Seamus.

Tavares was too busy taking notes to notice any of it.

"In this phase we get him interested in you. Just enough so that he's willing to meet with you outside of work. Friendship will be fine at this point in time, so don't worry about actually seducing him."

"How comforting." Fenris muttered, rubbing his hands over his face.

"This isn't about your comfort, darling. It's about practicality. Now, once that has been accomplished we move onto phase two." She slapped her ruler next to the following step in the sequence, "Group hang outs." There was a quiet  _ooooooooh_ from the group and Sammy clapped her hands together excitedly.

Fenris' storm cloud darkened and he snarled, "Of course it is."

"This is just an excuse to get him out of the club, to see him outside of work. Again,  _friendship_ is key here. We don't want to scare him off."

"Like a bunny!" Sammy chirruped.

"He's not an animal." Fenris muttered, prompting a simply perverse smirk from Emelda, "Well, not  _that_ kind of animal." She sneered, winking at him, he rolled his eyes and flopped against the back of the sofa.

"Anyway," she pressed on, "We need to lure him out, make him a solid friend, at which point it will be acceptable for Fenris to move on to phase four-" another sharp snap of her ruler, "One-on-one hangouts." Her chocolate eyes locked onto Fenris' emerald orbs, "Fenris, this is  _all you._ We'll set up a situation the first time, we all plan to meet up and we'll all come up with excuses not to be there. Hopefully it goes well and you guys find another time to just meet up, the two of you. Now, if it goes-"

"Don't I get a say in this?" Fenris quipped, sarcasm rolling from him in waves.

"No." The rest chimed in together, even Tavares, who's face was still buried in his journal.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted- if this all goes extremely well this will end in the introduction of phase 4-" Another smack, "Kiss the boy!"

Sammy and Tavares exploded in applause and Emelda bowed low and with a flourish of her hand.

"What's five?" Fenris asked, voice slicing through the boisterous applause.

"Oh! That's the most important phase!" She pointed with the ruler, everyone's eyes snapped to the bullet.

_5\. Film Sex Tape_

"No."

"How am I supposed to know it worked-"

"How am I supposed to write an accurate description-"

"No."

"Fenris, be reasonable-"

"No."

"Fen-"

" _No._ "

Emelda's eyes flicked to Sammy who winked and gave a thumbs up. Fenris just let loose and exasperated growl and clenched his fists at his sides. _They're trying to help. They're trying to help. They're trying to help_. He repeated the mantra over and over in his mind taking a few moments to calm himself, remind himself what this would all achieve, "When do we get started?" His voice was low and made of gravel and caused Sammy to flinch beside him.

Emelda clapped her hands together and bounced with glee, " _Tonight!_ " She grabbed Fenris' hand and dragged him up, "Now, lets go get you  _ready_."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful in pouring of support and comments. I do all this for you guys, and knowing you are enjoying reading as much as I am enjoying writing is such a fantastic feeling. Please continue to let me know your thoughts and observations, I want to make this as great as possible, and you all can facilitate that!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed, I know this chapter was a lot of filler and background, establishing a history and solidifying a relationship but it's still an important one! Especially for Fenris, who now has someone who knows, who can help, who he can open up to. Character development!


	5. I Will Possess Your Heart

_How I wish you could see the potential_  
_The potential of you and me_  
_It's like a book elegantly bound_  
_But in a language that you can't read just yet_

_You gotta spend some time, love_  
_You gotta spend some time with me_  
_And I know that you'll find love_  
_I will possess your heart  
_ **-Death Cab For Cutie (I Will Possess Your Heart)**

 

 

Emelda has left him outside her bedroom door as she dug through her closet to put some outfits together. Fenris wasn't sure what she was planning but if he saw one skirt laying out on the bed he was leaving.

Mads was the first to pass, face stony and unreadable. When she finally spoke her voice was quiet and touched with a whisper of motherly concern, though for who Fenris wasn't sure. "Stephens wasn't wrong. There is a very clear line. I don't want you turning into  _that guy_." Her eyes averted and she finally nodded, satisfied with her parting words, before moving to the doorway, waiting for Tavares, who she had presumably arrived with.

Sammy squealed and threw herself at Fenris, arms swirling around his neck tight enough to make his body wave and his head to pound at the loss of blood and air. Seamus removed her carefully and nodded at Fenris, accent rich and rolling, "Don't let Emelda take over, or she'll end up with Hyatt herself." It got a smirk onto Fenris face and he reached out to firmly shake the hand offered. Sammy sighed whistfully, "True love, Fen!" She half sang, "Isn't it wonderful? And  _you_ of all people! I knew a heart was buried in there somewhere!" He snorted but it didn't stop her, "You're so prickly!" She made wriggling motions with her fingers to emphasize, "But you've done it! Even you! There's hope for Stephens now!" Seamus ushered her away before she could say anymore, face apologetic.

Stephens rolled his eyes at the whole encounter and made to squeeze by the group to make an easy escape, done with the frivilous and idiotic endeavour. Fenris returned the scowl the other offered but something in his mind seemed to click- or snap, depending on how you thought of it- and he snaked his hand out to clutch Stephens' bicep, halting him.

"Oh what, now?" His honey eyes flicking almost viciously to Fenris'.

"You remind me of someone I knew." His voice was quiet, steady but not threatening.

"And you were the best of friends? And you wish we could be friends? How cute." He tried to jerk away but Fenris held fast, stronger than anyone gave him credit for.

"I hated him. The worst person I've ever known." Simple, succinct, but not intending to be cruel to Stephens.

"Am I supposed to thank you?" Stephens snarled, having given up on escape.

"He was thoughtless and vengeful. But he had a cause and so he thought himself just."

"Is there a point to this? Or are you just creating the world's most tiring insult?" He rubbed his free hand over his face and sighed heavily, weary of the constant bickering and prickling tensions.

Fenris had to steady himself, steel himself, remind himself that this was  _not_ Anders. That Stephen, while similar, was entirely a different person. His voice dropped again and he finally managed, "You act out of compassion. Do not corrupt that." And quickly jerked his hand back, as if Stephen had sprouted quills.

The human stood, face twisted into confusion, mouth working to produce sound but unable. Tavares stepped up and nudged him forward, "That's the closest you'll come to Broody agreeing with, or complimenting you, just take it

as is, don't push it, don't ask questions. Move along Blondie."

In a stunned silence the entire group pressed through the door, one by one, dazed by the  _almost_ kindness Fenris had shown Stephens. By the  _almost_ encouragement he had given. When the door clicked shut after them all, muting their hushed voices and excited whispers Emelda popped her head around the corner, waggling an eyebrow, "Sooooo, Fen, who was Stephens? I smell  _intrigue_." He sighed and scowled, turning to face her, "No one that's worth your time."

She pouted and let him follow her back into her room where she was still picking out clothing, "Oh please, pretty please, please do tell." Puppy eye did not work on Fenris. He almost scoffed at them, but the image of her holding those daggers, the way she winked and teased, the way she was  _so like Isabela_ washed over him and he sank out a relenting sigh. "Did you ever hear the story about The Blight Mage?"

"That old Chantry tale? Yeah, everyone in this rotten city has. Pretty sure every child who's ever seen a Chantry knows that tale." She paused to mull the story over in her mind and her eyes sparked to life, "Oh my god, is he the Fallen Champion?"

Fenris snorted and sat on a large chest at the end of her bed, hands braced on his knees, "No." His voice was dark and cold. "That was Garrett. And I do not have time to correct all the misconceptions." Emelda closed her mouth and dropped her hand, clearly disappointed, "We're coming back to this later, but, go on, who's Stephens?"

"He had nothing to do with the Blight." Fenris started, "His name was Anders and he was a mage."

Her mouth dropped open, "You're saying Stephens is the guy who sent a horde of Demons into that very Chantry and caused the slaughter of thousands?"

"No. He blew it up."

She couldn't find words for several long moments, eyes wide, mouth agape, Fenris cocked an eyebrow, "Catching flies?"

She stuck her tongue out but knelt excitedly in front of him, "Like... Bombs and TNT?"

"Magic."

"Holy shit, why?"

"Corrupted ideals."

Emelda rolled her eyes and sighed exaggeratedly, "Well, duh, what else is new?"

"The Chantry was cruel to mages. He disapproved. No one would change anything- not quickly enough for him- and so he exploded the Chantry." The memory of it all washed over him like a cool shadow. Anders, who would have given him back to Danarius for nothing more than a pat on the back. Who had killed hundreds of innocent people- people who had been trying to  _help_. Who's soul had been so corrupt that the essence of Justice itself was spoiled by it. Who's mind had become so twisted that he had forgotten why he started his fight to begin with.

The years had tempered him and slowly the train of thought shifted.

Anders who had worked as an Apostate healer in the most Templar-happy city-state in all of Thedas. Anders who had lived in Darktown, and accepted to money for his services. Anders who had fought beside even him, healed even him. Anders who he  _hated_ with such a ferocity that it still rang in his every thought. But Anders, who had wanted equality, fairness,  _kindness_ , and justice in the world so badly that he'd forgotten what all those words really meant.

His head and heart were heavy now and he rubbed at his temples, willing away the headache that came with ages-old memories, "Even Garrett was unable to stop him. Save him."

"In the story they bind their powers to unleash the army." She stood again, drama lessened slightly, and began to pick through her wardrobe once more.

Fenris wanted to laugh, a hard, sharp, cruel laugh at that thought. Garrett, using his magic for that kind of evil... It wouldn't have even crossed his mind, if anyone had dared suggest it he would have ripped their throats out. He was brutal, but not evil. "No. Never. Anders unleashed hell itself on this city and Garrett killed him for it."

She stopped what she was doing and turned, blinking, "Woah."

"Times were... Different. The world was on the brink of revolution. There was no prison that would hold his message or confine his spark."

"So he fought him to the death, holy shit- epic mage battle!?" She seemed to perk up, visions of what it must have been like rushing by her eyes.

"Nothing so grandiose. Just slit his throat and walked away." Something sad melted into Fenris' mind and he scowled to cover it. He didn't want to remember the way Garrett's shoulders had slumped, the black circles around his eyes, the hollow of his cheeks. He was a broken man before that day. He was drowning in the blood of his family- a father who died 1000 miles away, a sister who'd passed in his arms, a brother he'd lead to his death and a mother he was too late to save. More sorrow in 10 years than he'd seen in 200 lifetimes before. More tragedy than one person had any right to know, had any reason to live through. And in that one instant what little he'd had left, what grains of control and hope he'd managed to cling to, had been blown away in the hurricane that was Anders. Fenris had wasnted to bring him to life, just to slaughter him again. Wanted to burn the whole city down for the hurt Hawke felt.

He had always been a lousy protector. Unable to shield Hawke from anything.

When he came back to reality Emelda was standing before him, questions in her eyes. Fenris, uncomfortable with the sentimental moment, stood and strode away to compose himself, "Maybe he needed 6000 years." He murmured, more to himself than the female behind him. He, more than anyone in this world, had deserved a rest.

Silence hung between them. Fenris struggled to think of something to say, to escape the trap of the past, but it was Emelda who recovered the moment. "Here, wiggle that ass in these jeans and you won't look a day over 2,000." A smile breezed across his lips and he turned, skepticism turning to disapproval when he saw the leather number Emelda was brandishing before him.

"No."

"Hhhhhmmm, you say that an awful lot... And then you still do things." She threw the pants at him and he snatched them from the air before they could slap him in the face with a roll of his eyes.

"Are you at least going to look away?" He quipped, lancing her with a pointed look.

She shrugged, "No."

"You are insufferable."

"Shame that you love me, then, eh? Get changed." She flapped her hand at him and did, eventually, relent and turn away under the guise of finding a shirt to match.

A small smirk crept onto Fenris' face and he huffed out a short  _ha_ before also turning his back- just in case she tried to sneak a peak- to change. With some effort he wriggled his long, lean legs into the tight, black leather. The garment was tight, hot, unyielding and uncomfortable. "Emelda, no." He groaned, turning to face her. She pursed her lips and studied him, circling slowly so as to appreciate the pants from every angle. She relented finally, "You're right. Lets find something a little..." She paused, mulling over her options, "More comfortable. But still tight, it does wonders for you ass."

"Are you saying my ass is otherwise insufficient?" He queered, raising an eyebrow.

She winked playfully and skipped back to her closet to retrieve some other items. When she returned it was with pants that, had they not been in the ever popular "skinny jean" style, might have passed as nice business attire. They looked light and were made of some kind of cotton blend. They were sleak and smooth to the touch and Fenris nodded reluctantly, "Fine. Turn."

"Such at  _party pooper_." Emelda whined but did, indeed, return to her closet.

Fenris almost had more trouble getting out of the leather contraption than getting into it. Despite his balance and grace he nearly fell three times before he was finally able to kick his way free. The second pair of pants was much more comfortable. Still form fitting but cool and allowed for some easy movement. They reminded him of his old under armor, except without the stretch. He twisted his head around, admiring them before submitting his approval, "I suppose these will do."

The female poked her head out from around a corner and gave a purring growl, "Yes they will." She smirked, tossing several shirts out on the bed to pick through. Fenris blushed and cast his gaze down, it'd been a very,  _very_ long time since anyone had complimented him. Especially in that way. Centuries since he'd last tried to look  _sexual_ , or even thought that it mattered. Now it was all happening so quickly he could hardly keep up.

Emelda held up a long-sleeved fishnet number in front of him then, before he had a chance to rip the thing to shreds, scowled and tossed it to the floor, "Too tacky." She murmured to herself. There were open back shirts that were too feminine, tattered things that were too desperate, muscle shirts that were trying too hard. Finally she pulled out a black t-shirt. It was simple, and looked like you could buy it in a six pack of shirts at the local super center. But it gave her pause and she trust it into Fenris' arms, "Try it."

He turned and gripped the back collar of his own shirt, pulling it easily over his head and dropping it to the ground.

"Woah-" Came a quiet gasp from behind. Paused and looked back over his shoulder, confusion in his face.

"Your tattoos. I didn't realize there were  _every where_."

Fenris paused to look down at his chest and the spidery swirls of molten silver-blue that still remained. A smile flickered onto his lips, "You should have seen them when they were still  _alive_."

Emelda let out a rumbling purr, "I never thought I'd feel _jealous_  of someone who lived before indoor plumbing and toilet paper." She sighed whistfully and Fenris coudl feel her gaze still on him, "I suppose she never got to touch them so I can't be too upset."

"Didn't stop her from trying." He chuckled and pulled the new shirt over his head, covering the markings once more.

"A go-getter.  _I like that_." She smirked and twirled her finger for him to turn around. He obliged and tugged a little at the shirt, trying to get it to sit right. Emelda hummed happily and clasped her hands together, "Oh  _perfect_." She waved for him to go look in the stand-up mirror in the corner of her room.

When Fenris looked even he couldn't deny that she'd done a good job. The shirt hugged the hard, lean cuts of his body while still draping easily around him so that it clung in loose drapes that accented his form without being obscene, or trying too hard. He did scowl at the deep cut of the neckline, "Is this entirely necessary?" He sighed, picking at the V hanging over his chest. It looked good but it also displayed more of his markings than he preferred and seemed awful...  _slutty_ , to use Emelda's vocabulary.

"Sure is, sweetie." She sang as she returned all the clothing to their proper places.

Despite the displeasure at the neckline, Fenris had to admit she'd done well with the overall look. The slightly draped shirt over tight pants gave him a casual, not trying kind of sexy that worked ever so well with his choppy, mussed hair.

He turned to address Emelda to find her in a short lose skirt that just begged to be shoved up and out of the way and a tight shirt that swept eagerly along her curves. She winked, tightening the laces on one of the heeled boots she'd slipped on.

"How did you?" He was mystified, eyes jerking between the closet and the transformed woman before him.

She rolled her eyes and sifted through her shoes, "You act like you've never had parents come home early from a weekend vacation."

"I haven't." He smirked, thoroughly entertained.

"Well aren't we just Mr. Lucky, then." She sneered, face lighting up when she pulled a pair of biker boots free and brandished them to the elf.

Fenris shook his head, "No." Before she could retort he held up a hand, "No." She gave him a sad, puppy look, "No. When have I ever worn shoes?" She sighed and gave up, dropping the boots onto the floor with a heavy and disappointed  _thump_.

"Will you at least put on  _clean_ wrappings?"

"Yes, I will put on new wrappings if it'll make you happy."

She smirked solicitously back at him, "Oh, you're trying to make me  _happy_? I can think of a _few things_."

He sighed and followed her out of the bedroom, "We can stop by my place-"

She cooed excitedly.

"-and I'll put on some new wrappings-"

She whined at the conclusion of the sentence but her smile quickly returned, "I'll do my hair and makeup, we'll grab some food and by that point it should be a decent hour to head to the Hangedman!"

Fenris nodded agreement and allowed her to lead them from the apartment.

* * *

"Remind me again why we're going to the club on a Sunday night?"

"Because Sunday night is ladies night." She sighed, arms crossed against the chill of the night as they approached the door bouncer. She twiddled her fingers at him and winked, the Qunari smirked and stepped aside to let her pass.

When Fenris followed the man held a hand up, grunting to get Emelda's attention, "Men have to get in line." He grumbled knocking one horn towards the long trail of males milling between two lines of red velvet rope. The elf scowled and watched Emelda pointedly. She sighed regretfully and sauntered back to the Qunari, leaning up against him, fingers of one hand dancing playfully across his chest, plucking at the dark fabric of his shirt.

"Oh come on Jarvaad." She pouted sweetly, "He's with  _me_. We just have a little," she began to walk her fingers up his neck in time with her words, "bitty. witty. quick. errand. That's all." Her fingers had made it to his horn and were stroking along it slowly. Jarvaad's eyes closed and he hummed low in his throat.

"You know your tricks don't work on me, Emelda."

She pouted more, if that was possible, "Oh, Jarvaad,  _please._ "

He sighed and kicked her hand away, rubbing his face, "Fine. But now we're even." Emelda beamed and winked, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before grabbing Fenris' hand and dragging him inside after her.

The pair entered into a small anti chamber where a woman was waiting to check their coats. Then they went through a set of double doors, which left them on a 5 x 5 landing. If they went up stairs they would reach a balcony with the bar, seating and doors leading to the other areas of the club. The stairs down lead to a massive dance floor with several elevated stages on which the clubs strippers could dance- fully clothed in this case. After Emelda did a quick scan of the dancers out on the floor she scowled and lead him upstairs.

She grabbed a gin and tonic for herself and a tonic water for Fenris, sipping each to make sure she gave him the right one before meandering around the far wall. There was a long, red-lit staircase that led up to the private rooms and the hotel on the upper floors as well as a black curtained doorway. Emelda guided them through the curtain to reveal a second room with several low stages, each equipped with a metal pole.

Dancers of every race, and even some in between stood on the stages, all in varying states of undress. The only think in common was they were all men. There were a few empty tables left and the pair claimed one of them, a few rows back from the one of the stages, Emelda instantly enraptured by the lithe, swaying hips of the elf before them, "Remind  _me_ why we don't do this more often."

Fenris looked up to the elf above them, rolling his body up against the pole before sliding back down, offering the audience a sly smirk. Fenris looked over to Emelda, face impassive "We get Hawke back we can come here any night you want."

Emelda almost cackled, "Oh you  _horndog_. 

As the boisturous laughter his mask finally broke and he relented a little smile, holdin up his fingers in a  _just a little bit_ gesture. It only made her roar with laughter all the more, "Well, we have a mission to accomplish!" She looked around the room, flagging down one of the male waiters who were bringing in drinks and busing out the empty cups. He was short, even for a dwarf but sauntered over with all the height and grace of the elf on stage above them.

"Miss, how may I help you?" He leaned a shoulder against the table and broke out a note pad and paper. Emelda waggled her eyebrows to Fenris, who his his smile in his cup.

"Well," She cooed, positively delighted, "We were hoping we could request a dancer?"

The dwarf smiled, leaning forward, intrigued, "Ooooh, anything for the lady."

She clapped her hands together, "Is there a Hawke here?"

His eyes seemed to sparkle a little with glee, "Good choice, miss. I'll let him know he's been requested on stage 5. He should be out in a couple of songs."

Emelda slipped a five into the waistband of his pants and slapped his ass as he walked away, garnering a little chuckle from the dwarf and a snort from Fenris, "You are encouragable." He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. She shrugged and beamed, "What can I say? I like 'em stocky..." Her eyes lingered on his retreating form, "With  _plenty_ of hair."

"You like anyone with a dick."

"And most without." She winked and plucked the cherry from her drink off it's stem. She pondered as she chewed the fruit, "And those in between." She bubbled with laughter sinful enough that even Fenris let out a chortle of his own.

Several songs passed in idle chatter and Emelda was getting ready to go out and find Hyatt on her own when a familiar human swung up onto their stage to a wave of whistles and catcalls. Evidently he was a crowd favorite. He smiled, offering a few winks to several familiar females in the audience. A heavy bass kicked in and Hyatt snatched the pole in one hand, swinging easily around it before beginning his routine.

The pull had never been so strong. He always felt it, every lifetime, every new beginning came with that undeniable tug. Whether it was the time apart or simple hormones Fenris didn't care. And when Hyatt's body was rolling like that, his head tossed back, hips thumping to the music Fenris suddenly didn't give a single fuck. Something ticked on Hyatt's face, as if he could feel the intensity of the elf's gaze, or a vague longing at the back of his mind. His ocean eyes scaanned the crowd uncertainly until they met Fenris, and then they locked, unwavering, body moving on instinct.

Fenris could almost see the music flowing through him, sliding, pressing, pulling, twisting, thrusting, pouring through his veins and he rode it like a bronco. Fenris closed his eyes, the memory of that body doing so much more below him, the feel of it rolling over him. He groaned through clenched teeth, mind and body reeling at the memories. It was as if he couldn't look at the man without wanting to shove him back, slam their lips together and  _take_ him. Wanted to feel Hyatt's body around him, tight and begging. Wanted to feel the man's cock on his tongue, writhing and moaning beneath his taunting ministrations.

The binding didn't create any kind of psychic bond but, when his eyes opened to watch the man on the pole, he could feel the heat from his gaze coursing right back, like he knew. The song ended but their contact remained for a few long seconds before Hyatt shook his head with a sly smile around the crowd and hopped off the stage. He paused to allow a few people slip bills into his waistband, winking at each of them and dipping into their lap to give a quick body slide before moving along.

Finally he arrived at Fenris and Emelda's spot he leaned on the table eyes lingering on the elf's lean body, relaxed back against the chair, one ankle resting on the other knee. Fenris saw him gulp and push his carefully built persona back into place, smile spreading across his face. "Good to have you back. I didn't expect so soon, though." He winked and turned to Emelda, "Couldn't get enough, I see."

She winked right back and lounged back, turning her gazed pointedly to Fenris, Hyatt followed, eyebrow cocked, "Anything I can do for  _you_?"

Fenris smirked, pushing himself forward in his seat so that his face was inches from Hyatt. He paused, eyes dropping down to his lips momentarily before meeting his gaze again, now filled with something wanton and a excited. Their breaths mixed, chests rising and falling so close they almost touched, Fenris' smirk smug as he finished standing, Hyatt following his motion, almost on instinct. They stood close, too close and Fenris felt Hyatt leaning  _just ever so close_ _r_.

"How about I pay for a dance and we can-" His eyes raked over Hyatt's half naked body, a growl forming deep in his chest and something primal sinking low in his pelvis. Hyatt licked his lips, an impulse that made caused a predatory roar in Fenris' mind, " _t_ _alk_?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I had SO MUCH fun playing with Fenris and Emelda and really developing and exploring their relationship.
> 
> I don't think I see Fen as broody and pouty as most people do. If you pay attention he genuinely enjoys Hawke and Isabela's company. He makes jokes to Varric, and when he and Isabela fight he placates her by asking if she wants to try and guess the color of his underwear again. So I hope you all enjoy my interpretation which, I believe, really toes the line that Fenris develops along throughout the game.
> 
> I NOW HAVE A TUMBLR! It's carefulmimicry and I will post when I update stories on there, as well as share pictures I like, and take requests! I'll try to post insights into my thought process, writing process or just life in general. If you have any comments or questions or requests for me go ahead and make them there. Otherwise please add me and share my stuff with others, or things you like with me!
> 
> Finally- thank you all so much for you never-ending support. As always, I do love you all dearly and appreciate so much what you're saying. Keep letting me know what you like, or what you're interested to see, or what I could be doing better. I really take your feed back to heart and try to tailor the story to what you like/want to see/appreciate. Anders got a whole new scene because some one mentioned they liked my portrayal of him. I do this for you, so let me know what you want!
> 
> Have a wonderful night, I hope you all enjoy the update- there's a fun little surprise coming next chapter so keep your eyes open for that!


	6. Falling For The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have been a little rough here so this chapter is a little rough, for which I apologize. I'd wait and post it but posting things and writing is cathartic so please forgive the fact that it's sub-par. It just felt good to get it out there.

_"I'm so cool, too bad I'm a loser_   
_I'm so smart, too bad I can't get anything figured out_   
_I'm so brave, too bad I'm a baby_   
_I'm so fly, that's probably why it_   
_Feels just like I'm falling for the first time._

_Anyone perfect must be lying, anything easy has it's cost  
_ _Anyone plain can be lovely, anyone loved can be lost  
_ _What if I lost my direction? What if I lost sense of time?  
_ _What if I nursed this infection? Maybe the worst is behind_

_It feels just like I'm falling for the first time"  
_ **-Barenaked Ladies (Falling for the First time)**

 

Something  _pulled_ at the back of his mind. Something itched low and deep in his gut. A familiar touch ghosted across his skin and the hair prickled at the back of his neck, sending a ripple of goose pimples and chills across his body. He could  _feel_ those eyes on him, and it felt warm and good and wrong in all the _best_ ways. He scanned the sea of faces, finally catching on to that stare, the one that burrowed deep into his soul and nestled in to rest. The one he'd always known, but had never seen before.

The music thumped through him but he wasn't riding the waves of it's melody anymore. His body was churning to the delicious and sinful promise in those emerald eyes. He couldn't look away, he couldn't break the hold that stare had on him. Most importantly, he  _didn't want_   _to_.

The music ended and his body stilled, moving on instinct as he dropped from the stage to collect tips and thank the audience. His body danced through the motions, smiling, winking, rolling his hips but his mind was ensnared by the white-haired, green-eyed elf towards the back. With every step his persona splintered, the mask cracked and chipped, it was barely strung together by the time he reached the other man's table.

His eyes raked across the elf's lean body, coiled tight with perfect, stringent control. Slim hips, long legs and silver-blue scars that dripped across his chin and sank down into his shirt. The sight bubbled up into his throat, a hard lump clenching tight around it. With a hard swallow Hyatt steadied himself, pulling his mask carefully back into place.

They spoke, but all he could hear was slow, heavy inhale from the elf as those shadowed green eyes claimed him.

He looked between the two but all he saw was the drape of Fenris' body, lounging in his chair, all hard lines and lean bends.

They came to an agreement but all he remembered was the delicious way the white-haired male suggested they  _talk_. As if he was already sure they were not going to talk at all.

With careful determination and steady control he pulled his mind from its distractions, smiling he slipped a hand into Fenris', stepping back slowly, "Well, why don't you follow me?" He hushed, winking and taking a few backwards steps, allowing the elf time to admire the roll and tense of his body before swaying around slowly, hips dancing as they walked. Their joined hands held close to his hip, keeping Fenris within feet of himself. Close enough to feel the heat rolling off the elf's body, to feel the pull of want and intention pouring from him.

When, at last, they reached one of the smaller private rooms Hyatt pull Fenris in front of him, cool control washing over him as he stepped into the elf. Their bodies pressed together, lips panting, parted, inches away, a satisfied smirk playing across Hawke's lips. He shoved Fenris back gently into the wide, leather seat just behind him. Music thrummed through the room and Hyatt's hands ran slowly up his bare torso, fingers dipping and flicking over firm, defined muscle. His fingers chased the trails left by thin lines of sweat. Flitting over dusky nipples, pressing up his threat, pushing careful indents in their wake. He saw the flicker of desire in Fenris' eyes and knew that look. That yearning to press his own fingers there, to see his own strength depressing on muscle, to see his own will clenching on his throat, driven near mad and desperate with desire.

It was a desire he'd seen in women before but there was a sharper edge behind it, something more demanding, more feral. A fire burned in the elf's face, all sharp angles and strong lines, all man and masculinity. He tried to shake the image, free himself from the irresistible desire to be ever closer to this man. He drew in a harsh, serrated breath, conjuring up the images of soft curves, full breasts, thick lips against his own, supple thighs squeezing him ever closer, encouraging him ever deeper. But always the image slipped, always the chest turn hard, lips thinned and demanding, body strong and cut, pressing him back into the mattress.

He snapped his eyes shut, pretending to lose himself in the dance,  _fuck._ Calming breaths did little to sooth the electricity at the nearness of the other man,  _fuck, pull it together you stupid shit._ He let his body move on it's own, scrabbling to regain control of his mind,  _he's just getting into your head. It's been so long since you've been with someone that you're desperate for anyone._ The thought comforted his conscious mind, though something more sinister still lurked as a shadow, creeping over his cerebellum.

His control regained, Hyatt smirked and swung closer, leading with his hips, as he sunk one long finger into the tight heat of his mouth. He was now standing, straddling Fenris' knees but before he could drop fully into his lap, a cool, nimble hand stopped him.

He paused, hands falling to his sides, an eyebrow cocked in question. The elf's own gaze was averted, as if he was unable to even look at him. He could see his muscles quivered with his struggle to control himself. He shook with the need to not seize, not to grab and bend and  _take_ and the knowledge of that tight restraint, barely bound strength, sent a hard shiver up his spine. His collected mask remained however, and he slid forward once more, almost groaning at the power coiled behind that one arm, whose fingers clenched and twitched against Hyatt's hip.

"Please." Fenris' voice was low and strained, pushing Hyatt back. Head lowered, he sank into a second chair next to Fenris. When the elf had gathered his wits some he turned to face Hyatt, seeming almost grateful for the pair of armrests between them. "I have a proposal."

Hyatt's smile turned to smirk and he leaned one elbow against the rest and leaned in towards Fenris, "Oh, intrigue, please do tell."

"I'm sure you get many." And for the first time he saw the elf smile, face rushing with blood.

His heart cried out at the look, so sweet and young and innocent, something he'd seen plenty of in his clientele but never in such a way. Always when he gave a particularly provocative roll of the hips or dipped a little too close and their lips brushed. Perhaps after a particularly embarrassing request. But never had it seemed so pure. It drew a genuine smile to his lips and he relaxed his persona some, "I do, but I'm still interested to hear yours. I'm sure it's not the worst I've been asked.

"No, not the worst." Fenris assured, the mood relaxed, the music faded into the background and Hyatt felt something old and familiar between them. With the blatant sexuality pushed behind them there were the stirrings of comfort and easy friendship in it's place. "But certainly the one most likely to get a no." Dark eyes looked at him sideways and something deep within them seemed to beg reassurance.

He laughed a little, "I once shaved my beard in front of someone. That's a whole lot of  _nope_ s all in one scenario."

The quiet, simple chuckle sent his hear aflutter. Oh if Fenris would make that noise again, and if he could be the one to cause it. It was sweet and ringing and  _almost_ as enjoyable as that low, rumbling growl he possessed.

"No, nothing like that. You said you enjoyed the company of my friends- given, you were working and you were probably trying to be polite- but if you were serious..." He cleared his throat, hands moving restlessly on his lap and it took every fiber of control in Hyatt's body not to reach out and still them, cup them in his own and comfort him. Long gone was the thought of women and men, of what he had always desired before, and what he wanted now. All he could feel was the unending need to be as close as possible to Fenris. To know his mind- the wild swings from blatant desire to shy inexperience. Where had he come from? What had he been through that had made him so wildly confident, yet so shakily unsure?

"We're all hanging out on Saturday... Should you care to join." Fenris paused, brow furrowed, and again Hyatt longed to reach out and sooth it with a gentle touch. "There will be other men there, of course-"

"I'd love to."

The interruption surprised them both. He couldn't help himself around this man. All the walls broke down, all the carefully constructed lines and moves, the whole _stripper_  persona crumbled around his feet every time Fenris was around. He held himself together as long as he could, and always managed to pull it back in the end. But somewhere in the middle he forgot who he was supposed to be for his customer and became who he wanted to be for the man before him.

Fenris nodded, eyes shifting from the wall across the room to Hyatt's face, "I have to pass by this place, we can meet out front, around noon?"

Hyatt swallowed an nodded, smile probably wide and dumb. He fought with himself, reining it in and nodding, now rye and rueful. Plans set he glided from his chair, moving to stand over Fenris again, "If that was all..." He winked, body picking up the rhythm of the music once more, "I believe you paid for  _talk_?"

Before he could slide into the elf's lap, the man stood, face set as he shook his head, "Maybe another night." One of those cool hands rested against his chest for an all too brief moment, urging him aside, "I must return to Isabela. And I've kept you too long, I'm sure."

Hyatt felt his heart crying out in protest, demanding his mouth tell him to stay. But his words, though gentle, were firm and his presense was commanding, something within him seemed powerful and ancient. So he dared not say anything at all. Not for fear of the man's wrath, though there was a feral, untamed ferocity about him, Hawke never once questioned his controlled and passive nature. There was a stern sorrow lingering deep in his eyes, Hyatt couldn't quite place the emotion but it's presence stayed him.

* * *

Hyatt spent the rest of his night watching the other Elven dancers. He flicked through clips of gay elf/human porn on his phone. He tried to imagine sinking himself into another man, envisioned a man's face on his cock. He wasn't repulsed but there was a begging desire from his entire being to  _cut it out_. He scowled at the sight of a cock sinking into another man's ass, averted his eyes when they sucked each other off and shut the phone down entirely when one mouth came even  _close_ to the other's already abused hole.

He had nothing against it. No qualms with whatever someone wanted to do in the privacy of their own bed. But he could not bear to watch it, or think of himself performing such actions. And yet the thoughts consumed him, always and only with Fenris' face.

He had never questioned his prior relationships. Had never questioned why they weren't like the ardent affairs encased in the books some of his coworkers read. He didn't think about the general expectation and acceptance he had when they'd all, inevitably, ended. Never cared that he'd never felt a driving need to  _feel_ somebody. And why they were always so short. After twenty-five years he'd accepted that was how his life was. He was fine with an unending series of month-long relationship and impersonated zeal during sex.

So that night, as one of the slim, giggling waitresses stumbled after him into his apartment he snatched her wrists and pinned her to the wall before the door had even swung closed. She had gasped, high and airy, and it had grated him, just a little wear, at the base of his skull. He'd silenced her with a hard kiss, bodily forcing her against the hard drywall. Her body arched out to meet his, rolling against him as moans and whimpers tumbled from her plump lips.

At each one he wished it lower. Deeper. He longed for the rash growl of a wolf, ready to pounce.

His hands shaped her soft curves, dipping in at her waist, grabbing tight, leaving bruises, crushing her supple form against him. Her panting breaths pressed his chest against his and his mouth lapped at her exposed nipples hungrily, nipping sharply, eliciting light, pleading cries from her own eager mouth. She sunk to her knees before him and he buried a fist in her hair, riding her open, willing mouth hard. He'd never been rough, never been so short or frustrated but he was determined, driven. He needed to prove-- something. He didn't know what but this was how he did it.

But at each slide of his hand over the slope of her hip, the peak of a breast, his fingers dug in hard, searching for taunt, lean muscle and narrow, lithe hips.

He fucked her. He'd never deigned to use such a word before. It was crude and violent and short and never something he'd been particularly interested to engage in. But that night there was no other word for the way he ripped her lace panties to the side, hiked her skirt up, pulled her legs around him and thrust up into her tight, hot body. He held her against the wall and silenced her girlish cries with his mouth as he sank into her over and over again. His hips surged forward, thrusting her up the wall and pulled back to meet her again as she slid back down, his cock pistoning in and out of her. Sweat rolled from his neck, and he closed his eyes against the sight of her soft, round face.

And at each pounding jab of his hips he imagined something even tighter, slicker. He imagined something thick and hard in his hand, the hot jet of climax across his chest.

She came first, and he continued to use her body until he found his own release. He let her legs down and collapsed over her against the wall, breath hard and panting as he came down from the high of orgasm. He felt disgusting. Sweating, hot, his dick still slick with her juices. He needed a shower and he needed her to leave before he could look at her face again and become even more sickened by himself than he already was. She scrawled her number on the whiteboard by his door, as if he wouldn't see her next shift anyway, and slipped from the door with a final kiss pressed to his cheek.

The shower was hot enough to sear his skin and leave angry fire trails down his back. He scrubbed his body raw with soap and cloth but still a stench hung about him. But still he could feel her touch on him. It felt all wrong. It'd always felt unsatisfactory, that he was used to. But this shame, embarrassment- sex had never felt erroneous.

He had treated her poorly, he was sure. Though she had begged for more and left fufilled. But that was only a small piece of the guilt he was feeling. He couldn't identify the bigger portion but the way Fenris' moans and growls kept echoing in his mind held some clues.

Towel around his waist, body still dripping and red from the shower, he collapsed on his bed, hands plastered across his face. He wasn't gay. He'd never been gay. Never thought or dreamed or even imagined or speculated. But in the silence of his room, with just the ghost of touch against his skin, the memory of lips parted below his own his mind filled in the spaces with  _him_.

Images and sounds of Fenris flooded his tired mind and his exhausted body begged to respond. He was sure it would have, had he not been so fatigued already. He groaned and flopped onto his side, wrapping the clean, white sheets around him as he sank into the mattress. He was not gay. He was not gay. He was  _not_ gay.

But if he was....

But if he was he would beg for Fenris' cock and worship his body like a god. Just the thought of it sent the images reeling once more. And in the final moments before sleep he imagined his tongue falling down on those thin, silver-blue lines. He could almost taste their metallic tang, could almost feel the way they shifted beneath his ministrations, like mercury, pulsing, alive, soft then stiffening. He had the barest moment to wonder how he knew, why he knew, what he knew, before sleep swept over him in a tumbling, exhausting wave.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a lazy little fuckfuck and I don't have the thought or energy to go back and see how long I said Fenris had been waiting. I'm going to say 25 because I like Hawke at least 25. If there are inconsistencies I will change things around so it fits. I apologize for my own underwhelming dedication right now.
> 
> ALSO- so I know this chapter isn't the best, as stated above.
> 
> As well as other things, I'm still trying to find Hawke's voice and it's tough in this story because I haven't thought about it at all. As I finished last chapter I just came up with this idea and started writing- mostly because I was tired of writing the same seven things for Fenris every time.
> 
> The biggest thing is I don't sense his personality yet. He's struggling hard to keep that professional mask on, keep the act up, but it cracks in places, but because he hasn't fully let loose I haven't gotten to give him a real personality so he feels very flat and bleh to me right now. Next chapter will be the first real "Hawke is back!" chapter.
> 
> I'm trying to get a wide array of possible Hawke attitudes in each of my stories- red/purple (Long the Mile), straight blue (Sometimes when we fall), hot mess purple (Not lost), and now a more blue/purple mix here. We'll see how that goes.
> 
> POINT BEING: this was a hot mess of a chapter and I apologize. I might go back and tweak it later.
> 
> \--------
> 
> As always, I love you all and your amazing support has done so much for my writing. Thank you so much for all your kudos, comments and bookmarks, they mean a lot, seriously. I hope this chapter is as good as all the others and that you enjoy the little twist we got with the new perspective. I'm hoping to jump between the two of them regularly now, to keep it interesting. Let me know what you think!


	7. It's All Been Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brain: YOU KNOW WHAT'D BE FUN?  
> Me: What, brain?  
> Brain: IF WE HAD SONGS FOR EVER CHAPTER!  
> Me: Won't that backfire-  
> Brain: NOPE DO IT BITCH
> 
> \-- Chapter Seven --
> 
> Me: We have no songs, what did I-  
> Brain: Srry Not srry, KEEP LOOKING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this up on Monday, as a gift to you all for my birthday, but a huge swath of it ended up getting deleted (I must stop writing here on AO3 I know) and I didn't have the heart to re-write it all. So I'm posting it today, as a belated birthday gift from me to you. I hope you all enjoy.

_I knew you before the west was won_  
_And I heard you say the past_  
_Was much more fun_  
_You go your way, I go mine_  
_But I'll see you next time_

_It's all been done_  
_It's all been done  
_ _It's all been done before_

**-Barenaked Ladies (It's All Been Done)**

 

 

 

Hyatt had never found sleep easy. He roiled in fits and bouts, everything in his soul screaming out to run, get out,  _wake up_. It'd always been that way and sleep aids had only made the struggle worse. He'd learned to settle for late nights and early mornings, for too much coffee and dark circles around red, blurry eyes. He'd never dreamed, not beyond the falling sensation of sleep closing in, only to be jerked away upon imaginary impact. He had felt the stirrings of faces and vision, had felt his mind slowly melding into some new world but before anything could form his heart would thunder and his body would jerk him away from the tantalizing edges of these mystical night-time visions.

Thus, when an alarm signaled his need to shower and prepare for the day at 11:00 he was already awake, entertaining himself with some dumb video game or another. A groan swept from his lips as the dragon he was fighting blasted his party with a deadly rain of fire, cooking them all to a beautiful medium-rare, he was sure. The controller clattered with abrasive and discontented clacks as Hyatt dropped it to the floor, leaving his party to fend for themselves in favor of a warm shower to wash away the night's starts and sweats.

Dark, loose jeans and a soft cotton T-shirt later he made his way through the Lowtown streets to the club. He winced as the noon sun struck the fading bricks and withering sign. It came alive at night, thrumming and buzzing with people, drink and music. The night cast it in shadow, obsured flaws and shabbiness. The sign glowed and hissed with electricity and energy, illuminating all those passing by with a sharp, neon spark. It felt young, new, fun. In the day she felt sad and old, sagging at the corners and dusty around the edges. Hyatt pressed a loving hand against the warming bricks and a fond smile stretched his lips.

"I apologize-"

His hand jerked back to his side with abrupt effeciency, eyes snapping to the approaching male.

"I got-" Fenris paused, his eyes taking in the confusion and shock plain on Hyatt's face before finishing with a careful purpose, "caught up." He cocked an eyebrow, eyes casting about quickly as if to seek out the cause of the other's surprise, "Did I startle you?"

 _No, I just didn't expect you to be so stunning in full daylight._ A flush rose to Hyatt's cheeks and he cleared his throat, and mind, "Uh, just a little. Caught up in my own thoughts, I suppose." The half smile that teased the corner of Fenris' lips seemed a familiar expression and he had to force his gaze away to keep from falling into that subtle play of joy. "Do you wanna-... Uh... Where are we...?"

Fenris nodded, stepping towards him, "Yes, we should get going." He pressed a black and gold sweatshirt into Hyatt's arms.

"Uh..." It was warm, easily mid-eighties, he extended his hands, offering the sweatshirt back, sure that he would be fine, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the gift.

There was that quirking smile again, that glint of knowing and intrigue in shifting emerald depths, "You'll want it. Lets go." And, for the first time, Hyatt noticed a hoodie of matching colors tucked under Fenris' other arm. He pursed his lips, a sly smile spreading across his face as he jogged to catch up to Fenris.

"Oh, I'll need it, will I?" Bumped shoulders against him, a motion that he felt roll from deep within, rather than a conscious or purposeful gesture. It surprised him, but, like every contact and interaction he'd yet had with Fenris, just felt  _right_.

Fenris huffed a small laugh and the smile grew to both corners of his mouth, and Hyatt found his heart fluttering at the expression, at the thought that it was for him. "Do you want me to ruin the surprise?" He quipped, turning his face to watch Hyatt with care, trying to read his expression.

"I... Well... I suppose not." He sighed in mock concession.

"Good." Fernris nodded and turned his face forward once more.

"So, uh.." Hyatt rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to fill the space between them with words. He'd never spent time with customers outside of work. Nevermind with a  _male_ costumer he had rather upsetting and confusion feelings towards. He sought after the words for comfort, as something to rest on to avoid the obvious questions he had for himself and the pressing concerns of  _just what spell this elf had cast to make him feel like this_.

"Hm?" Two dark brows arched easily as his attention returned once more to Hyatt.

"So what do you do? I mean... you know-" He flushed entirely red, he could feel the blush burning down his neck, "You know what  _I_ do. But what about you?"

The smile that lurked before lingered as he considered his answer finally settling on, "I... I suppose 'I'm a bounty hunter' is the only way to put it." He shrugged, casting the label aside with the easy motion, "Neither of us is terribly glorious."

Hyatt's jaw dropped, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Smile fading into confused wariness, Fenris should his head, "No...?"

"A  _bounty hunter_? Andraste's knickers that's so boss!" He felt like a child again, or as though he was living in one of his fantasy games, "I didn't know that was a  _thing_. So you like hunt down bad guys and drag them in? Can you fight? Are you any good? How long have you- When did- why, HOW, how did you get into it?" He was so eager his questions began to tumble over themselves, tripping across his tongue and stumbling from his lips in excited flurries of nonsense.

Fenris let a  _hhhmm_ rumble deep in his throat, his face going dark and expression distant. "Longer than you'd believe." There was a pause and Hyatt saw the consideration in Fenris' case, "And it just... worked." He shrugged and Hyatt nodded, casting his glance to the ground, embarrassed for his uncontrolled outburst. "And it depends on the weapon." The answer piqued Hyatt, a smirk creeping to his mouth when he noticed the longing smile creasing at the corner of Fenris' eyes.

Hyatt licked his lips as his smile grew, "Oh? What weapons are you the best with?"

A light pink glow touched the elf's cheeks as he ruffled a tattooed hand through his white hair, "Well..." He almost seemed like he was... embarrassed? As if he hadn't had occasion to speak about it much, or as though he was surprised that someone would ask. It was an adorable appearance on the otherwise dark and stoic male and it endeared him to Hyatt in an unexpected way. "Honestly, I'm particularly good at two handed weapons. Great swords, war hammers, battle axes..."

That was...  _not_ what Hyatt expected. "Two-... Are you serious?" Duel wielded pistols, shot gun, crossbow, flamethrower, sniper rifle he wasn't sure exactly what he had thought Fenris would say but a weapon from the Dragon Age was not one of them. "Fenris-" He stopped walking, catching the other's arm, a sharp shiver jolting up his spine at the tight muscle he didn't expect to find there. The elf jerked to a stop, flinching at the touch, as if unused to such definitive contact. "Fenris, do you have any idea how  _bad ass_ that is?"

The red smear spread, a burning trail scorching its way to the tips of his ears, he shifted awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck with his unencumbered arm. "I..." He coughed out a chuckle, "Well..." A sharp clearing of his throat pulled his discomfort back into check, "Well, I suppose. It's just... What I've done."

Hyatt's face split into a sudden grin, "Could you teach me?!" He pulled his hands back splaying them before him in excitement, gazing at them in wonder as if there were already a heavy, steel blade there.

Fenris paused, and Hyatt heard his breath catch before a low chuckle rolled from some place deep in his chest, a hand splaying across his face to hide, or perhaps stifle the amusement there. "Maybe another day?"

Joy launched through every nerve of Hyatt's body and he felt as though his face would crack under the smile that continued to grow, "Definitely another day." He followed Fenris' lead, turning and quickening their pace to make up for the lost minutes. His grip tightened excitedly around the sweatshirt in his hands. Steadily the thoughts of why and how he was quickly slipping into attraction for another man drifted away. Concern still lingered at the back of his mind, confusion lurking behind unconscious action and thought. But, piece by piece, something, he wasn't sure what, began to fall into place.

* * *

Hyatt could not remember a time he was more grateful for a sweatshirt. Spending most of your time naked, or nearly naked, provided some degree of toughness against chill. Despite this the promise of spending over 2 hours in a t-shirt while no more than five feet from an ice rink was still not a delightful one. He had never seen a Hockey game before. Hell, he'd never even considered so much giving it a passing glance while channel surfing on a boring Wednesday night. Yet, here he was, clad in the black and gold of the Kirkwall Twins, screaming as the players hurtled across the ice, as if he knew what was going on.

He threw his hands up in frustration as one of the players flubbed a pass and allowed for a turn over, killing the last 10 seconds of the power play, "Are you kidding me right now?! He's  _right there_! Just get the puck to him, for fuck's sake!" The time out buzzer rocked through stadium and Hyatt turned eagerly to Fenris, excitement alight in the ocean of his eyes, a bit of doubt crept in at the cocked eyebrow and bemused smirk on the elf's face. "What?" He panted, pushing the sleeves up his arms, starting to feel a little too warm with all of the physicality of his cheering.

Fenris shook his head, "Nothing." Emelda leaned forward in his seat to wink at Hyatt from around the man between them.

"What he means, sweetie, is that you're adorable when you're getting enthusiastic for things you know nothing about."

Hyatt shook his head, face twisting into confusion as he thumped down into the cold, plastic chair, "Huh?"

"You said,  _go, go, get the run!"_

"Yeah, he was going down the ice, he was gonna beat everyone else!"

Fenris dropped his face into his hands between them, shoulder quivering with subsided laughter. Emelda pressed a hand against his back and pressed her own laughter back, "Yeah, it's not a race. They're trying to get the puck into the net. It's called a goal."

Hyatt waved his hands anxiously in front of him, "Yeah, yeah, I know, but if they get around behind the goal then no one can touch them, it's the no check zone."

Sammy, sitting on the far side of Hyatt turned into the conversation at that not, "I'm sorry, what?" Her voice was sweet and innocent, sparkling with laughter and pity.

"What? That's what... They get back there and then people just let them-..." He trailed off, the painful pity on Fenris' face. But before further explanation could be provided the horn to start play blasted, calling everyone's attention back to the players on the ice. The puck dropped and the players were off and Hyatt exploded from his seat. "COME ON YOU WEAKLINGS!" He cried, punching his fists through the air, "YEAH HIT HIM! YEAH GET... GET UP...." He flailed uselessly for a few moments, not able to think of the words needed to explain what he wanted from the players. One of the Twins players checked an opponent into the wall, the crunch of cartilage and pads audible around stadium to the shrieking cheers of all, "YEAH!! THAT THING! YEAAAH!"

His flushed with elation at the thrill of the game, arms tired and lungs ragged and panting, Hyatt turned to Fenris. The elf couldn't cover the smile tugging at his mouth and Hyatt had to hold back the urge to pull him up and crush his lips against Fenris', press their bodies together- uncaring of where they were and who could be watching. He swallowed,  _hard_ and clenched his fists tight at his side to try and rein in some measure of control. He bounced on his toes, working some of the fluster out in physical agitation, "This is  _awesome!_ " Ever trying to distract himself from the incessant pull, the constant desire to be closer, to touch, to whisper into those deliciously pointed ears, to feel the scrape and drag of those calloused fingers against him.

Fenris' smirk grew and he gave a small nod, turning his attention, to Hyatt's regret, back to the game before them, "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

His breaths rushed out in hot pants, his eyes unable to turn from Fenris, words struggled to form in his mouth, "Y-yeah... Thank you."

The gratitude gained Fenris' attention once more and he nodded, "I'm... happy that you came. Spending time with you is... pleasant." There was a restrained in his words, an uncertain faltering that made Hyatt want to read his mind, see what was lurking there, what it was he was so scared to say, what it was he was holding back, keeping so guarded from sight. He opted instead for shifting awkwardly under Fenris' gaze, hands stuffed into his pockets as he shrugged, quickly turning back to the game.

With thirty seconds left on the clock and a 2-2 score on the board the entire group was on their feet, screaming at the players.

With 20 the Twins managed to get a turn over.

10 seconds and they were circling back on their own side, regaining control, forming up once more.

5 saw a break away play with a rookie brought up from the minor leagues two weeks ago.

4 he beat out the last defenders with some fancy sticking and a quick spin move.

3 he was dribbling the puck, coming up to the left of the goal.

2 shot fake out, the crowd screaming on their feet, the goalie misreads and splays out on the ice

1 slap shot to the top corner, the siren wails, the lights spin, the victory song plays, the crowd claps along in time.

Hyatt screams his joy, double high-fiving Sammy, double gunning Emelda and then throwing his arms around Fenris, who was smirking with smug satisfaction at the victory. The elf's body stiffened for a moment, before allowing Hyatt to drag him along with his insane hopping, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat. He turned, smile cracking regular stoicism of his face to meet Hyatt's joy.

At the meeting of their eyes Hyatt felt his body bowing forward, arms tightening and drawing Fenris closer to him, their faces suddenly so close, his breath catching in his lungs, stuttering out in unsure jolts. The sound swept away, the world seemed to close in, Fenris' eyes dropped to his lips and Hyatt gulped, mouth falling open slightly, head tilting down-

Emelda snatched Fenris from Hyatt, to mutual displeasure, whooping and hooting in victory. Hyat sniggered at the frustrated growl and turned to celebrate with Sammy and Tavares.

* * *

Emelda stood poised, one arm draped across Fenris' shoulder, her other waved cheerily as Hawke mounted the bus from the stadium in Hightown to the other areas of Kirkwall. It was too late to be walking anywhere and so the group had agreed it best that he get a safe ride back to his home. When the trundling public vehicle coughing around the corner and off into darkness. She beamed at Fenris, dragging him along with her by his shoulders, "Well, well, that  _was_ exciting wasn't it?"

Fenris heaved a sigh and trudged along beside her, "It was... certainly something."

"Did you  _see_ the way he looked at you?" She cooed, free hand tapping across his chest until he knocked the hand away gentle.

"Yes, well, it doesn't mean much, does it? We been gawking at each other since the start, I  _know_ what's going on and he has to feel  _something_ but..." He snorted a humorless laugh, "He's still got himself convinced it's a fluke, doesn't he?"

Emelda beamed, a dangerous and suductive expression for her, "Oh, don't worry. By the end of phase two... Phase one?" She frowned, then waved her free hand and sighed, "Doesn't matter, bu the end of group hangouts he will be falling all over you. We've got some good stuff planned." She winked, an expression even more dangerous than her smile, and released Fenris, depositing him outside his house, waving over her shoulder as she sauntered towards her own abode.

* * *

Emelda had reached out to Hawke about the following Saturday. How she had gained his number Fenris didn't exactly want to know, but she passed it along to him so he couldn't complain too terribly much. They swapped a few, uninteresting texts about where and if they would meet and walk together, finally settling that no pick up was necessary, they could simply meet at Emelda's place, where this week's hang out would occur.

Fenris resisted the urge to take Emelda up on her offers to go check out Hawke at the club. It wouldn't help the situation and there was only so many times he could shamefully jerk himself off in the shower with Hawke's name tumbling from his lips. Instead he ticked down the days until Saturday, until he could see Hawke again, until he could feel that joy, his smile, his warming embrace. And when the day came he was the first to arrive, much to the chagrin of Emelda who shooed him to a spot on the sofa, securing him there with a knowing wink.

Eventually the rest of the group trickled in, and each was was pressed into place was careful and exact motions, filling up all the seats on the sofa and each chair. Stephens was the last to show and Emelda motioned him to a chair off to the side of the sofa at the center of her living room. His eyes met Fenris' and for a moment it seemed as though he had something to say. His lips tugged and pursed before he gave up with a sigh and joined in the conversation Sammy and Seamus were having on the sofa beside him. Fenris managed to withhold a roll of his eyes-  _this was not Anders_ \- he reminded himself, and turned to Emelda as she sashayed by with several bowls of snacks and sweets.

"What in the Maker's name are you doing?" He hissed, grabbing her wrist.

"Setting everything up, don't worry, it'll be great." She giggled- a horrifying sounds- and skipped back to the kitchen to finish bringing over the nachos and sodas that always accompanied their movie evenings. The bell rang one last time, though no one except their suspicious host and Fenris seemed to notice. She shoved the elf sharply back into his seat as she went to greet Hawke at the door, pulling him into a tight embrace, swooning and giggling at his strength, and then leading him into the living room, quickly plopping down in the last available seat.

He looked lost for a moment, shifting uncomfortably under the stare of everyone, each exchanging glances, silently bickering over who would sacrifice their seat and sit on a pillow on the floor. Stephens made to stand with a heavy sigh, "Fine, I'll sit-" the death grip Emelda latched to his thigh turned her knuckles white and drove his voice into a register all were sure it was never meant to reach, " _nevermind_."

With a sappy pout that Fenris was sure no one believed for a second Emelda yanked a pillow and blanket from behind her and off the back of the sofa, respectively. "I'm so sorry, Hyatt, but rules are rules, newbie gets the floor." Her pout turned to a sickly sweet smile that churned Fenris' stomach, "I'm sure Fenris wouldn't mind being used as a back rest,  _hhmm_?" He froze, face caught between surprise and disbelief, that sneaky, sly little witch. She winked again and he turned his gaze to Hawke, "No, I will pull my legs up, you may use the sofa." He shifted, getting into as comfortable a 'criss-cross-applesauce' position as he could manage with a disapproving Mads on one side and a disgustingly delighted self-satisfied Emelda on the other.

Hawke smiled and dropped the pillow to the floor, plopping atop it and leaning back against the padded front of the sofa, back of his neck pressing  _just so_ against the cross in Fenris' shins. So easily, so natural, if he dropped his head back it would be cradled neatly in the fold of his lap. Fenris swallowed at the thought and offered a strained smile when Hawke looked up slightly with an apologetic grimace. "It's fine." He ground out, eyes blazing at Emelda who shrugged and whistled innocently. With his head nestled there, body curled beneath a blanket Fenris was called back to the nights of too many lifetimes ago.

_Of stretching out on a plush, crimson lounge chair. Of Hawke's head warm on his hip. The chorus of stuttering snores from him and the large dog flopped across his lap. The flickering light of the fire illuminating the pages of the book perched in one hand, his other nestled deep in Hawke's dark, thick hair, stroking in slow, soothing motions. Of dying light, eyes slowly gaining weight as the hours ticked silently past. The feel of a heavy thump of a book dropping to his lap. The vague sensations of warm, strong arms curling around him, the swaying comfort of motion. The rumbling chuckles in response to discontented sleepy grumbles. Of awaking to the protective circle of Hawke's arms._

Emelda's cooing joy pulled him from his reverie, "TONIGHT! By popular demand! We will be watching The Tale of the Champion!"

The room echoed in a chorus of groans.

"ALL THREE PARTS!"

Even louder dissent. Fenris practically gawked at her, she just shushed his look and flapped her hand, "Trust me."

He scoffed, "I don't."

She sighed dramatically and pressed play on the remote, "Part one- A Fated Arrival." Her voice dipped low and mystical, causing several handfuls of popcorn to the thrown in her general direction, most of it hitting Fenris, he glared pointedly at her and she smirked deviously in return. Tavares flicked the lights off and the room fell into obedient silence, the only noises the sound of slurping soda and the crunch of candy and popcorn. Emelda's breath was hot against his ear, "So, you'll tell me the truths, right?" Fenris grumbled and she relented, "Just the big ones, then?" He nodded and shooed her away, the movie drawing him in.

It's newest and final installment had been released several months ago yet he had not bothered to watch the Chanty fairy tale come to silver screen. He'd lived it and the story itself had enough lies and slander, he didn't need to see Orlais', undoubtedly horrifyingly inaccurate, adaptation.

An orchestra swelled as white text appeared over a black backdrop, carefully introducing actors and producers. Every few moments came a smash cut to a dwarf be dragged, stumbling through dank, stone halls. It was dark and with some kind of melodramatic blue filter cast over the scene. A brief verbal battle, the beginning of an outrageous lie and then the real story set in. And with it Fenris began to count.

Leandra, blonde and almost as young as the children she supposedly had mothered. Rosy cheeked, hair tossing in the wind, chest heaving with the exhaustion of running too far for too long. Bethany, clad not in the simple, leather garb of mages' armor but in a cotton dress and waist sinch. Her breasts poured over the top of her neckline, all but choking the poor girl. Carver, an oaf who appeared to know more about the color of his own eyes than which end of a sword to grab. Fenris groaned and pressed fingers into his temples to stem the already budding headache. He hadn't known any of the Hawke family for long but he knew they all deserved better than this.

"I always thought Carver would be so dashing." It was Sammy's quiet, almost wistful voice, "The way he sounds in the tales, like he could be so handsome and sweet." She giggled nervously and drew her knees into her chest, "It's just a shame about the casting is all, I suppose." Fenris wanted to roll his eyes but the memory of his almost friend, and the girl he'd loved sparked something warm in his chest and he let her go with a minute shake of his head instead.

Wesley was heroic and bold, Aveline was a tight-ass bitch. Of course they were. Fenris had never known Wesley, other than that he was a Templar, so maybe that portrayal was fair. But Aveline had earned more respect than to be shoved into a box as a butch twat who had little grace, less emotions and no sense of decorum. She was motherly, but she was also shy and heartbroken and sensitive and tough with just a touch of whimsy where ever Donnic was concerned.

Bethany's death was swarmed in blazing pyrotechnics and even he had to admit were some of the better magic effects he'd seen. Wesley's death was quiet and sad. Flemmeth was left out entirely, the director finding  _that_ the too implausible bit. Instead opting for them to skid down a cliff and stagger their way to port. Fenris snorted, oh, why hadn't every one else thought of that? Just jump off a cliff to escape the Darkspawn- here portrayed more as zombies- what could possibly go wrong?

"Oh, oh oh oh!" Emelda chirped close to his ear, "Oh this is the  _best_ part." He quirked a brow but turned to watch the scene play out. A Rivani woman, dressed in a long shirt and what could reasonably have been either short shorts or booty short panties took the screen. Her gold-handled daggers flashed in display, quickly and effective in dispatching several opponents before she turned to take her final shot from the bar. She was full of sass and sex, sauntering easily with just the right edge of danger dancing around the corners of her eyes. He couldn't help but smirk and shake his head, "I suppose they did a decent job." He murmured, snorting a huff of a laugh at Emelda's excitement of seeing who she used to be, who she could have been, and seeing it was every bit as wonderful as she'd hoped.

His own entrance was bordering on painful. The actor was a full head and shoulders shorter than Fenris, his hair a pale blue, to match the ever flickering tattoos etched across his face and down his arms. It was long and pulled back into intricate 'Dalish Warrior Braids' or some equally dumb shit. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. The actor was thin and willowy, so much so that Fenris was embarrassed to find himself self-consciously glancing down his own body to verify that it was, yes lean and limber but also corded with tight muscle and coiled control.

"I get that Merrill is really beautiful-" Hawke's voice vibrated against Fenris' legs, rolling through is skeleton, "And, don't get me wrong, I love the ladies-" Sammy giggled and Aveline rolled her eyes in exasperation, Tavares offering a low chuckle from his corner, "But I always liked the Lyrium Warrior." Emelda's eyes were near boiling with a heated satisfaction and Fenris glowered back.

She smirked offering only a sighing, "Well, if only we knew his name, right?"

"It is strange," commented Seamus, "That we know the names of all the other companions of the Champion, but his name was lost to time. He was the traitor, the one who defeated the evil plan, and yet..." He shrugged, "Nothing."

Emelda had yet to look away, smirk almost evil now, "Oh yes, such a  _shame_. I'm sure it was something terribly exotic, too."

Fenris felt Hawke shrug, "Anyway... If we're talking about secret crushes, he'd probably be my one exception."

Emelda whooped silently as Fenris' face flushed red and he turned quickly back to face the screen.

The first movie ended with Carver stumbling, half dead, after a band of Grey Wardens, the Champion fighting back the tears of rage and sorrow and the fading figures of the group as they stepped back into the light of the surface world.

Part Two- The Champion Arisen

There wasn't much of note in the second installment of the Champion story. It suffered from the classic falls of being the middle section in a trilogy. It's largest purpose being to add the needed filler to connect parts one and three. Nothing was mentioned of Hadrianna, the tale instead focusing on the budding relationship between Hawke and the sly temptress of blood magic and demons- Merrill. There was no love lost between her and Fenris, yet her complete misrepresentation in the movie left a bitter tang in his mouth none the less.

It was more of the same with Anders, a barely controlled abomination- not just glowing but actively transforming into a demon whenever his ire was sparked. It was heavy handed and tedious, needlessly villainous and it bored Fenris terribly. Had his life been so polarizing? So ridiculously over the top? So absurdly and blatantly evil?

Fenris had managed to restrain his laughter throughout the movie but at the Arishok fight he could no longer hold back, an incredulous, frustrated barking laugh jerked from his lungs at the vision of struggle, near death but, within thirty seconds, utter victory with the use of black, phantasmal hands conjured through... some magic that had yet to be explained. All eyes turned to him in surprise and shock and he covered the half-shout with a shrug, "It just seems ridiculous." He explained casually.

"Yeah sure,  _this_ is ridiculous-" Stephens sighed, rolling his eyes, "Not the magic or dragon or Lyrium infused elf."

Fenris shrugged it off and sank back into the movie again, memories of the Arishok battle bubbling up in his mind, fresh as they'd been the day after. He remembered that battle. Remembered every tattered breath Hawke had ripped into his lungs, every haggard cry of a spell cast, every slipping footstep, drenched in his own blood. Fenris had been foolish, too caught up in Qunari politics to think of Hawke's all too tenuous hold on life.

He had suggested it and Hawke had accepted without hesitation, _because he trusted Fenris._ He trusted him to protect him, to do what was best. Fenris had betrayed him in that moment. And in that moment he knew his Hawke would die. He would die and Fenris had arranged for it himself and secured it with a pretty bow. He had always been powerless against the continual deaths of his soulmate, but never had he so directly caused them.

When Hawke had won. When Hawke had stood among the blood and gore and stumbled to the ground at Anders' feet for healing, when the Qunari had quietly taken their leave, when he had lain in bed that night with his lover, watching his battered chest staggering up and down in deep, even breaths... He had hoped, for just a moment, just one tiny moment that the curse was broken, they'd some how, unknowingly, completed the ritual. It had been a useless hope, a silly hope and he'd let it go as quickly as it had come... But it had come, even if just for a few twilight moments before sleep.

And that hope was the greatest feeling he'd ever known.

He shook his head to rid the memory, quickly leaning over to Emelda to distract himself, "Isabela did come back. She found a thousand excuses about getting lost, getting bored or missing Hawke along the way, but she did return, book and all. I don't think she was as selfish as she tried to make people think she was."

Emelda smiled, a glint of pride at the flashing corners of her face.

Part three- The Savior Fallen, started close to midnight. Tavares had already drifted off and was huffing quiet snores from his side of the line of chairs. Sammy was draped across Seamus who was struggling to stay awake, head drooped forward onto his chest. Mads had left, having more sense than the rest of them and someone waiting for her back at home. Stephens was curled into a ball on his chair, a thin quilt pulled over his cramped body. Emelda was stretching and yawning but managing her sleepiness just fine,  _thank you very much_. Hawke's own head was lolling around, Fenris could practically feel his eyes tugging against the heavy draw of slumber.

"WEEEEEEELL-" she yawned with a large stretch, "Why don't you finish this last one, I'm going to sleep." She winked, tossed a blanket over Tavares and the Sammy/Seamus combo before stumbling back to her room.

"Where-" a lion of a yawn interrupted the beginning of Hawke's sentence, "Where'd Em-em-... Emelda go?" Fenris grumbled out a short, "To bed." Before the intro credits rolled for the final movie.

After ten minutes Seamus was most certainly asleep, head drooped against Sammy's.

After thirty minutes Fenris felt Hawke's head begin to hang back, finally coming to rest easily in the cradle of his legs. He glanced down once to Hawke's sleepy smile, he was watching the movie from the bottom of his eyes, head tilted up just enough to see while resting in Fenris' lap. As time wore on and the drone of exposition (from the movie) and snoring (from the sleeping group) Fenris found his mind wandering as he watched the final drama unfold across the screen.

It wasn't until his fingers were nestled deep in thick, soft, deliciously dark hair that he realized what he'd been doing. He wanted to jerk his hand back from Hawke's head, wanted to hiss and shove the other off of him. But as he pulled his fingers free, carding through the gently parting strands, Hawke let out a quiet murmur of comfort. Fenris' next breath was stilted and his hand carefully-  _oh so carefully_ \- dipped in to trace through those warm, inviting locks again. The hair waved and parted at his touch, sliding easily around his fingers, tangling and snaring at the ends.

With a deep breath Fenris closed his eyes, his hands moving on their own, fingers massaging against scalp, brushing stray strands from Hawke's face. For his part, Hawke continued to sigh contentedly, quiet  _mmmmh_ and unintelligible murmurs drifting from his parted lips. His eyes flicked beneath their lids and a small smirk played across Fenris' lips at the sight, imagining the dream he could be having. When their bond was renewed he'd be able to sense the dream- or, more accurately, the emotion his mate was feeling. A quiet laugh huffed in his chest at the thought of so many  _fun_ mornings because of dreams.

As the final battle commenced Fenris began to watch again, the final fall of the Champion to temptation and demon. The joining of his and Anders' magic to destroy the Chantry. The legion of demons they summoned to defeat the Templars. It hurt, deep, deep in his chest to see the betrayal of character, the twist of story to serve only the Chantry's purpose.

He watched his own betrayal of the Champion- the movie painting him as some kind of angel, or hero, come to warn the Templars of the mages' plan, to fight with them against the evil tide of magic that was sure to scourge the land. What, perhaps, hurt more was the small flicker of truth in those moments. Hadn't he- just for one second, just for the briefest of flashes- considered rejecting Hawke's ideals and helping the Templars? Hadn't he thought of trying to convince him to side against his own people? He was forced to look away again, unable to face the almost-truth the movie told of.

The Champion and Merrill- the Elven temptress and lover- escaped the city, disappearing into the wilds, only to be spoken of as hushed rumors, then a whispered legend, then as religious fairy tale, never to be heard from again- much to Varric's interrogator's chagrin. She wanted him found, captured, and brought to justice for his crimes.

The screen faded to black and Fenris switched off the television. He did not move, though, preferring to remain where he was, Hawke's head warm in his lap, fingers stroking simply through his hair. There come the occasional drifted sentence or nonsensical thought because of course he talked in his sleep. In the thousand or more years they had before his soul was lost- he'd always talked in his sleep. Fenris was glad that some things never changed. Despite the ever shifting world and uncertain future there were always somethings that were constant-  _his eyes, his crooked smile, his sleep talk, his love, Hawke._

It was when his legs began to fall asleep, tingling and buzzing from scattered nerve impulses and exhaustion of position, that he finally decided to get Hawke to bed. He could curl up on the sofa opposite Seamus and Sammy. He could also take the fifteen minute bus ride home, should he desire to do so. Either way Hawke needed to get to Emelda's guest room because Fenris was not letting him sleep on a sofa, and not even a whole sofa, just the half of one.

He was strong, but he was not a brute. And Hawke was easily one and a half times his size of bulk and muscle. The best Fenris could manage was to half drag, half carry him down the long hall to the guest bedroom at the end. He was more amazed that Hawke didn't wake up during the whole ordeal than the fact that he managed to heft the large man into the bed all by his lonesome. He paused to watch him sleep, the moon slanting through the shades and casting a soft glow across his face. His eyes fluttered with dreams and small twitches tugged longly at his arms and legs. A smile quirked Fenris' lips, one hand reaching out to trace vaguely across Hawke's brow and along his bearded jaw, sighing at the familiar feel. Another note to add to his list-  _His beard. He always had a beard._

As his hand drew away and he moved to exit the room another reached out to snatch it.

"Don't..... go." Murmured a quiet, sleep-addled voice from the bed. Fenris turned to look, Hawke's eyes blinked blearly at him, never fully opening.

"You're tired. You don't want me to stay." The words were harsher than he intended but he knew what the other had said about his sexuality, knew how easy it was to get drunk off sleep.

"I...." A wide yawn and he settled back into the fluffed pillows, "I was dreaming."

Fenris gave his hand an experimental pull, but to no avail. "Yes, you were. You were also talking."

"I've... Never.... Dreamed before." His words were slow and slurred with sleep but gave Fenris pause, no less.

"Never?"

Hawke shook his head, ending with his face buried in his pillow, "I always.... wake up. Right before...." He yawned one more time, consciousness quickly fading, "It's like.... my brain.... is scared?"

Fenris didn't reply to that. It sent a chill down his spine. His soul refused to re-enter the fade, even in dream. His soul was scared to return, scared to get lost again. For the too-many-th time that night his chest ached and he felt something painful and sad build up at the back of his throat.

"Stay...." Murmured Hawke, his words more grumbles than sense, "You let me.... dream." One gentle tug on his hand was all it took, Fenris closed the door with a socked foot and crawled onto the bed behind Hawke, tentative to make contact, one hand resting gingerly against the humans' bicep. He was cold, unwilling to tuck himself underneath the covers with Hawke. His own body was rigid with apprehension and nerves. But even that couldn't keep him awake for long and he soon found himself drifting into a deep and easy slumber.

He awoke once in the night, when a police car had zipped by, sirens blaring, screeching an alarm to the whole neighborhood. He was warm. That was what registered first. He was still over the covers but Hawke had shifted in the night, pressing himself neatly into the hard lines of Fenris' body. He dared not move, dared hardly to breath lest Hawke wake up and this all end. His heart thumped hard in his chest and his arms itched with the urge, the  _need_ to curl around him, pull him ever tighter, cage him in and hold him for as long as the night would let him.

But he didn't. Instead he nestled his face into the back of Hawke's neck, sighing in the pine and leather that was Hawke. It had always been Hawke. One last thing, before sleep stole his mind again, more more comforting certainty in his jagged little world-  _his smell._ And in every breath his heart thumped  _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a moment that happens, when you realize you're writing four fics. Then you realize three of them are all modern AUs. Then you realize that all of them are fairly similar "look here's a bullshit fluff plot to cover up this horrid pining UST eventually they'll be together story". Then you want to bash your stupid, unoriginal face in.
> 
> Meanwhile people out there be making swim team and soccer dad AUs like ain't NBD.
> 
> In other news, I hope you enjoyed! Also, I'm trying to get more into short fics/one shots/drabbles so please, please send me prompts, songs, scenes, quotes, poems, pairings, whatever. If you want to see it done please let me know on my Tumblr (#shameless self promotion): http://carefulmimicry.tumblr.com/submit


	8. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really wanted this chapter from Hawke's perspective. It would have been so good. His brooding while making coffee, wondering and thinking, his emotions through it all. The song selection is still from Hawke's POV so... there's that.
> 
> However I think there were some lore thoughts that I wanted to express and I felt that was more important to the story at this point. But don't worry, a serious chunk of the other chapters will probably be from Hawke's POV.

_All my life  
_ _Is changing every day  
_ _In every possible way_

  _In all my dreams  
_ _It's never quite as it seems  
_ _Never quite as it seems_

_I know I've felt like this before  
_ _But now I'm feeling it even more  
_ _Because it came from you._

**-Cranberries (Dreams)**

 

Morning light slanted in warming waves through the wooden shutters. A quiet sigh drifted from Fenris' lips, his muscles pulling his body into a stretch of creaking joints and quiet pops along his spine.

Something was different. Even before he opened his eyes his body registered the strange dip in the bed, the subtle roll and shift of changing weight. He cracked his eyes open, casting his glance to the bed next to him and, as expected, it was empty. His gaze drifted towards the end of the bed and there, as he expected, hunched Hawke. Fenris cleared his throat. to signal his return to consciousness, and pushed himself up into a sitting position against the pillows and headboard.

Hawke tipped his head slightly, watching Fenris from the corner of his eye before facing away again, hands raising to bring a steaming mug of something to his lips. The air was thick with intention, questions and a wary tremor and so Fenris held quiet, allowing his own calming presence to sooth Hawke's apparent agitation. He had questions, he could start the conversation, Fenris was more than happy to wait.

"Good Morning." Hawke finally supplied, voice soft but bereft of any sleep addled croak or grumble. He had clearly been awake for sometime now, though how long he'd been sitting and sipping his caffeinated beverage of choice in this room, on this bed, Fenris could not be sure.

"Did you sleep well?" He replied softly, allowing the question to buzz through the air, alighting the atmosphere. There was no connection, not yet, but a part of him would always, instinctually know what he needed to say or do.

Hawke proffered up a shrug and turned, one leg still dangling off the bed, the other bent and braced against the firm mattress. "I'm not sure. I dreamed."

So he had said last night. Fenris tried to with hold emotion, not wanting to set Hawke off in any way, not wanting to provide any clues or hints that he knew how or why it was happening. His reply came carefully and with deliberation, "You mentioned that you've never dreamed."

It seemed to be the right answer because Hawke nodded, "Never. Not once. I barely sleep, to be honest. But... Last night." His brow furrowed, his gaze intent on his drink, as if it's depths held the secrets of life and the fade. "I slept through the night and I dreamed... My mind wouldn't shut off." He paused, now turning that speculation to Fenris, eyes and tumultuous ocean in a raging storm, burrowing deep into his mind, "You were in every one."

So this was it. Every time it was different. There was no singular thing that flipped the switch, that started the process of memory rejuvenation. It was always something that had been important in the life before. Their last trigger was sex, Hawke had perished before they'd had the chance in the lifetime before. Once it was when they were sparring and Fenris had pinned him to the wall with his blade, he had died of a cut throat the life before. Once it had been the taste of Chamomile one early winter morning, the sun glinting just so, the breeze sweeping the scent of snow and wet earth over the taste of Hawke's tea. It was a morning similar in the previous life when they had first said  _I love you_.

Every time it was different. And Fenris remembered every one, could track them back over a hundred lifetimes, and often did as he wondered what it would be this time around. It was dreams. Of course it was dreams. After his encounter with the fade it was no mystery why his memories and lives got abandoned there, stolen and trapped by the Nightmare. It probably hadn't come up yet because with out the comfort of it's mate, Hawke's soul had been too scared to enter. But now it had an anchor, a bond to the living world and so it had ventured forth. And the memories had unfolded.

"Me?" He asked it with a mildly piqued flippancy that woudln't set him on edge with Fenris' eagerness or make him sound like he was suggesting something vulgar.

Another nod from Hawke, "I never saw your face but I knew it was you." His eyes looked away, as if satisfied with what they had found in Fenris' depths. "Warm sun, laying on cool grass, holding hands. Rain, storm, it's freezing but we're huddled by a fire and your body is keeping me warm so I don't mind. Shattered glass and the smell of spilled wine, crackle of fire and the memory of a laugh." It had started slow, the words halting and unsure, as if, like any other dream, they would dance and flash away just as he tried to grasp at them. But quickly gaining speed as the visions,  _memories_ began rushing back more quickly, "Music, sparkling crystal, your body against mine, swaying in dance. Falling, falling, falling, falling but this time not waking. This time landing somewhere terrible and  _wrong_. A tree... A willow? Your hands in mine, the sway of light sliding over and between cascading leaves. Whole... The sense of being  _whole_."

Hawke looked once more to Fenris, face begging explanation. Of course he did know, there was an instinct within Hawke that told him,  _he knew_. Fenris shrugged, head shaking in lost uncertainty, "I'm not sure what you expect me to say."

"Why? What are they? Why are they happening?" His voice was strained between frustration, confusion and... something more subtle than anger but within that family.

"I wish I could help." He explained forlornly. There were rules, not many and no one ever told you them outright, you always discovered them as the lives trickled by.

One always died, one always lived.

Certain things would always remain constant, though it would be different for every one, some it would be talents or hobbies, names, hair styles, tattoos, scars, favorite sayings, a laugh, their voice... It was different for everyone and their partners would always quickly grow to love those things the most.

No one could tell you what would complete the ritual, it was different for everyone.

No one could tell you what happened once you did- no one knew.

_The immortal could never tell their soulmate about their bond or past lives._

Fenris had tried just once, had been frustrated with the unsuccessful attempts at wooing and had tried to just explain why they should be together. Minutes after he had started memories began to flood back all at once, began to twist and warp his mind, he had clutched his head, had cried out in pain, agony, blood had trickled from his ears and he had been dead within seconds. Fenris hadn't stopped shaking for weeks afterwards and had vowed never to try again.

Hawke didn't believe him but didn't press right away, opting for another sip of what Fenris now knew by smell was coffee. He exhaled slowly through his nose as he swallowed, finally glancing back at Fenris. "Well, I guess my subconscious must just really like you, then," He sighed as if in resignation, a small smirk quirking to the corners of his lips.

It was bold but he'd never been one to be skittish or shy so with a delicate arch of one brow he met Hawke's gaze, "Just your subconscious? Or would your Frontal Lobe like to weigh in on the subject?"

Hawke almost choked on his next sip of coffee, coughing up a few huffs of laughter, smile widening just slightly across his face. With purposeful motions he leaned out to place his cup on the dresser at the end of the bed. "That's a good question." More of a murmur to himself than a reply to Fenris' inquiry. Hawke turned again and pushed himself fully onto the bed, braced on hands an knees. Fenris felt a shiver jerk up his spine, every muscle and nerve in his body suddenly tense, tingling, alert to Hawke's every motion.

"I suppose-" He crawled forward slowly, deliberate and steady, not with the sexual roll and glide of seduction, "-It's growing to like you..." A bit further up the bed now, "Quite a bit... My usual preferences not withstanding." He was crawling into place next to Fenris now, body twisting and settling onto it's side, propped on one elbow, face tilted towards him. "I'm not sure how I feel." His eyes drifted to Fenris' lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own, causing Fenris' breath to hitch in his chest, "But I can think of something that might help me..." His sentences trailed off as Fenris lowered his face, Hawke pressing his own upwards, each pausing where centimeters remained between them. Their breathing was shaky, hesitant, eyes unable to hold gaze, forced between contact and each other's parted lips. They moved forward again, Hawke's final words a whisper against Fenris' mouth, " _find out_."

This was the moment where Emelda barged in.

This was the moment when their phones rang.

This was the moment Naked Dave from across the street started doing yoga with his curtains open.

This was the moment where anything, everything happened that would tear them apart.

Except it didn't.

Hawke's mouth was soft and tasted bitter but refreshing. A clear pool of water in an oasis, the first swallow of lemonade on a hot summer's day, the tickling breeze in stifling humidity, the sweeping rush of a crushing wave in the beating sun. He sighed into Hawke's lips, his eyes pressing closed, mind and soul sinking into the warm slide of lips and soft gasps of breath. An eternal stillness settled over them, time creeping to a crawl as their lips slanted together easily, naturally.

A quiet, stuttering groan escaped from Hawke's throat and Fenris' hand was quick to cradle the back of his head, fingers sinking deep into thick, dark locks. Hawke's free hand fluttered uneasily over Fenris' hip, skittering up his side to cup painfully sweet against his cheek, drawing them closer with just the barest suggestion of a pull.

Fenris' breath was coming in deep and heavy, long, sweeping breaths that pressed and pulled in between shattering kisses. Hawke was the first to flick his tongue from his mouth, dancing easily along Fenris' lips, moaning quietly at the fresh, intimate contact. It delved further, teasing Fenris' own tongue into motion, taunting it out, inviting it back into his mouth. Fenris' groan was unrestrained and he surged eagerly forward to claim Hawke's mouth, stroking in long, firm sweeps, tickling his lips, curling against his tongue.

The actions drew a low, wanton moan from Hawke, whose breath was shallow and panting, straining from small gaps in their kiss. Fenris could feel a fire burning low in his hips, could feel the growing itching tingle to seize Hawke's body against his own, roll their hips together until they were both dizzy with arousal and on the bring of orgasm. Oh, Maker, did he want Hawke. He wanted to touch him, to feel Hawke's hands against his chest, raking along his back, dragging his face in for another kiss and another.

His fingers spasmed in Hawke's hair, clenching tight, warring between pulling him on top and pulling him away but staying in the middle was no longer an option. Hawke's moans and gasps were pouring freely from his throat, low, guttural sounds of need that pumped hard at Fenris' heart and churned his body into life, his jeans uncomfortable and tight as his cock took sudden interest. Hawke's hand was drifting from his cheek, down his arm, over his ribs and the ache in Fenris' groin and chest were for two different things but his heart won.

With a final, regretful moan he drew away, unable to open his eyes, hand moving from Hawke's body to catch his hand, stop it before it could trace over his hip. His heart was pounding, blood rushing deafeningly in his ears, body almost shaking with the arousal and need scorching through his veins. His movements were direct and purposeful, had they not been he and Hawke would be in very different positions right now. Fenris swallowed hard before opening his eyes, breath picking up and rushing in a tripping stagger from his lungs.

Hawke's eyes were locked on his, ocean blue drowned in the abyss of his pupil, his lips swollen and bright, cheeks smeared with red and chest heaving with the needed effort to breath. Fenris curled his arms against his own chest, taking a few deep, steadying breaths before he did something he would later regret. This was lust, this was the first tanglings of the bond calling to Hawke, preying on his open mind. It would take many more nights of dreaming until he would truly return to himself, until he would remember for the first time and that whiplash would surge between them and they would be joined once more.

Fenris didn't want sex. Not like this, any way. He wanted to feel the thrill buzzing between them, wanted the sensations to wash over them both, wanted the mingling thoughts of pleasure and need. But mostly he wanted to feel Hawke's love. He wanted to feel at home in his arms again. He wanted to see that smile that lit up just for him. He could wait. He did not mind waiting because, in that moment when they reach climax together, existing in neither mind but a happy melding puddle between, it was so worth it.

To his credit, Hawke recovered with grace and wit, "Well, I suppose that  _does_ answer the question."

"I would hope so." He murmured in reply, smile wide and unwilling to be stifled, drawing a matching one to Hawke's face.

"So I guess this means we should... go on a date or something?" There was hesitance in Fenris' eyes and Hawke saw it, biting his lip, a part of his mind knowing it should be able to just  _know_ the cause, to just  _feel_ the reasoning, and floundering in frustration when he couldn't.

"I don't want you to feel as though you must." Fenris supplied, "You have started your preference."

Hawke let out a huff of a laugh as he pushed himself up, scooting to the end of the bed to snag his coffee once more, "Oh, I think I know my preference." He smirked before drinking long and deep from the cooling cup.

"Make sure you tell Stephens that." Fenris huffed, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, body having finally calmed down enough to leave the room and get breakfast going for the people left over from last night's festivities.

"Hhhmm?" Hawke looked to him, face a question as he sipped slowly.

"He made..." The word struggled, wrestling a cross his tongue, " _good_ points about how, were you gay, it would be offensive to attempt to convince you otherwise."

The laugh was unexpected and rolled from Hawke in boisterous waves, "But when you're right, you're right, no?"

Fenris smirked and nodded, "I suppose so. I'll see you out there-"

"I want to make a date."

Fenris frowned and paused at the door, "We will."

"Now. Right now. Please. I want to see you again... as often as possible, in fact."

"Tuesday? It's usually a slow day for work. We can practice that sword play you were so interested in." The excitement that lit across Hawke's face sent his heart racing again and a buzzing tingle through his brain and spine.

"Yes, yes that sounds excellent." Hawke stood and trailed Fenris excitedly into the kitchen, each careful to whisper now to avoid waking the others.

"I have Thursday off, we could play video games or something?" Fenris nodded, unable to pull the growing smile from his lips, thanking the Maker there was no one around to see it.

"Alright, lets seal it then."

He turned, cocking an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

"You know, seal it with a kiss. Two things you can't break, pinky promises and kisses."

Fenris chuckled low in his throat and leaned back against the counter, both hands raising to cup Hawke's face as their lips joined again, gliding easily over one another in a lingering, languid kiss. As they pulled apart Fenris' heart skipped a beat, all the old sensations rising to the surface in powerful, churning waves. It'd been so long. It'd been so painful. It'd all been too much but now they were here. Now  _he_ was here. The memories had started to return and the world was setting itself right again.

 _This time._ He promised himself.  _I'm not letting him get away this time. I'll save him. I will save him._

He watched as Hawke bopped about the kitchen, setting up the supplies for pancakes and bacon, hips swaying in an easy dance to music only he could hear. Fenris' heart ached hard and sharp and he had to raise a fist to press against it.

_I won't lose you again. I can't live alone again. Please, please don't leave._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The way it underlines 'more notes' at the top makes it seem like "*frustrated sigh* look at the bottom because this twat can't shut the fuck up"
> 
> 2\. I know this is a short little nothing chapter but I just... I dunno I wanted to post something and it just felt right to end it there? I didn't want to write another big group scene this was something small and quiet between the two of them and I just wanted to keep it that way. I'm sorry if it's not as expansive or exciting as you were hoping. The next one will be, I promise.
> 
> 3\. Thank you all again for your endless support and comments, it means so much. I can't say enough how much it means to me and.. thank you. A thousand times thank you.


End file.
